Bridging Distances
by Madebyme
Summary: Set season 2, after Bloodlust but before CSPWDT. An emotional rift is now also physical as the brothers become separated during a seemingly simple hunt, but nothing is what it seems and things go from bad to worse. Plenty of hurt boys, angst and suspense.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer - **I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Summary - **Set early season 2, after Bloodlust but before CSPWDT. An emotional rift is now also physical as the brothers become separated during a seemingly simple hunt gone wrong, but nothing is what it seems and things go from bad to worse.

**Thank You - **I just wanted to give a quick shout out to blue peanut m and m, who has sent me the kindest and sweetest messages encouraging me to post this as well as offering help and support, so if you're reading, my heart felt thank you goes out to you, you have no idea how much your kind words helped me through this.

**A/N **- This is my first ever fanfic and I can't tell you how nervous I am right now, I feel sick, excited and scared to death all at the same time, its one hell of a ride! I've been reading all of your wonderful fics for many years now, anonymously reviewing and hiding behind my computer and I thought it was about time that I plucked up some some courage of my own to share this story with you all. I've been writing it on and off for nearly a year now, it's completed and is eleven chapters long (funny, it started out as a one shot but grew well beyond my control) and if all goes to plan (and if you all like it) I'll be posting weekly. I'm warning you now that it's been shared with no one, I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine but judging by the amount of times I've read the thing, I'm sure hoping that any mistakes are minimal and hopefully minor. It's a bit of a slow burner but it does pick up I promise, expect plenty of mystery, angst, action, hurt and eventually comfort. Also I guess that I should warn you that the boys are not the only ones to be separated, the first chapter is Sam based, the second belongs to Dean and so on, I wrote it this way and I stuck with it because it suits the storyline and highlights their emotional separation. I think that's it, I hope it is because I really don't want to bore you all with more notes, so I hope you enjoy and here we go...god I might need a change of underwear!!!!!

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter One**

Crap.

It was simple enough and yet it explained everything Sam's mind could encompass, in this, the first thought that his brain had conjured in what felt like a millennia. He was sure it would describe his current situation and whatever it might entail, he was fairly certain that he was physically lying on his back in it and from what he could tell, his body definitely felt like it.

Sam wasn't exactly sure how long he'd let it go on for but for a while after that simple thought there was nothing as time slipped past, his consciousness fading and bleeding together with the darkness that greeted him. As the shadows cleared and awareness beckoned him for the second time, his mind re-awakened at a snails pace and it troubled him that even the simple task of remembering his name took a while to master and even though he didn't know much of anything right now, he knew that that was bad, probably really bad.

As his brain started to kick start its way back to reality Sam found that his eyes were beginning to open. At first all he could see was darkness but gradually the black became smudges of grey that made their way achingly slowly into blurry colours and outlines of shapes. He blinked several times hoping to clear his vision further but all it did was make him feel even more nauseous then he already did.

Opening his eyes was the worst idea he'd ever had, as directly after this seemingly straight forward action Sam felt a jabbing pain located both in and around his eye sockets before the stabbing sensation gradually made its way across his forehead and then, like a bolt of lightening, it shot to the back of his brain before settling to a dull constant ache on the right side of his head.

He didn't even realise he'd closed his eyes until they were open again and it took his toffee thick brain a while to register that that couldn't possibly be a good sign.

Movement seemed like it was something he should consider but if blinking turned out to be such a painful and semi traumatic experience then he really wasn't looking forward to that idea, so he decided to stay put for just a little longer, surely there was nothing wrong with that, right?

Just as he felt his body begin to relax the questions came and before he knew it he was being bombarded with a steady unorganised stream of them and he could feel the panic bubble in his gut when he realised he couldn't answer any of them. Trying to quell the sinking feeling of despair, Sam mentally separated the questions and organised them into a list of importance, he was good at lists, he knew at least that much.

With a heavy heart he realised he had no idea where he was, judging by the coldness he felt seeping into his bones and by the dampness of his clothes, he figured he was outside. His eyes confirmed what looked a lot like patches of blue sky and maybe the tops of trees but with his vision somewhat impaired that was about all he could see. There were no sounds of traffic or any other signs of civilisation so Sam figured he must be in some sort of park, forest or maybe even a very large garden.

But that was it and it had been accomplished entirely by methods of deduction and a hint of common sense. What troubled him the most was that he had absolutely no memory of coming here, no recollection of ever having been here before, hell he didn't even know where here was!

So he waited patiently. But it didn't happen. He had been expecting everything to come back to him in a constant series of snapshot memories that hurtled towards him at full force. After all that's how it usually happened and how it had happened countless times before, this wasn't exactly the first time he had had memory loss but previously it had been temporary, for like a few minutes until everything settles down and the veil of clarity fills the gaps.

But apparently this time was different.

He moved swiftly to the next question that was nagging him, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he was much pretty much screwed, hoping with everything that was at his disposal that maybe he could answer the next one, that maybe it would jump start a series of memories that would set his mind at rest and ease some of the dread that was running through his veins. Sadly it just made him feel more confused, his heart rate sped up and he could feel the pit of worry that had settled in his stomach suddenly get a whole lot bigger as he confirmed silently that he had no idea why he was here or even if he had come alone.

Dean.

And that was all it took for Sam to move. With a strained groan he shifted his head to the left and tried to focus his hazy vision. Nothing. Well no sign of his brother, just what he assumed was a wide selection of patchy green trees and other forest growth. Another groan and a hiss followed the shift to his right but all he gained was a tidal wave of nausea and pain that made him squeeze his eyes tightly together in the hope of riding it out. After several deep breaths he managed to pry open his eyes only to be rewarded by more trees and the absence of his older, seemingly MIA, brother.

"De..an" Sam mumbled, knowing that that was supposed to be a shout not a hushed whisper.

"Dean" he tried again, a little louder but all he received for his troubles was a pick axe of pain that hacked his way through the right side of his brain and he didn't really notice that it blanked his vision and cut off his hearing.

Disturbing thoughts started to invade his head. Where was Dean? He could be hurt or lost or in some sort of danger. He needed to know where his brother was. To make sure he was okay.

What he needed to do, Sam realised, was get up and find him.

But on the flip side maybe Dean was somewhere out here looking for him, if so it was best that he didn't move and wander around. What if he'd come out here alone for some reason? Maybe they'd had a fight, which was always a possibility, especially with things the way they were right now, since Dad. Maybe he'd gone on his own into this forest (or wherever the hell he was) to cool off, Sam could remember wanting to do that on several occasions and he noted with relief that at least he now knew he was only dealing with short term memory loss. At least something was going in his favour. But if they'd had a fight that would also mean that Dean wouldn't even be looking for him, well not yet anyway, he hadn't been out here for that long, had he?

It was then that Sam's muddled mind suddenly assessed that this was yet another vitally important question that he couldn't answer. He thought about lifting his arm to check the time but that would be pointless as he had no start point to count his missing time from. It could be minutes, hours or even days, he couldn't even hazard a guess. His clothes were damp so maybe he'd been gone for a while but then again he was lying on his back on the floor. Maybe it had rained. No, scratch that he was damp not wet.

The piercing pressure of too many questions and too many uncertainties caught Sam completely off guard as he felt them twist and writhe around in his head, he needed something, any answers at all, he really wasn't picky at this point in time. But right now the realisation of what a truly helpless and dangerous position he currently found himself in was threatening to push him over the edge.

Not only did he not know where he was, how long he'd been here, where Dean was, or why he was even here in the first place, but for the life of him Sam couldn't think of a solution of how to get out of it.

Forcing his eyes to close, Sam slowly blew out the air he had unconsciously been holding because now was not the time to freak out, all he needed was a plan, his father had drilled that into him at an early age, always have a plan, even if it was simple one. With that in mind he decided to take things one step at a time or else he was going to panic and that was not an option as it solved nothing.

The first step should be to assess and catalogue the injuries he suspected he had and his head seemed to be the best place to start, it had after all been trying to gain his attention ever since he had opened his eyes. The blurred vision, nausea, apparent short term memory loss and confusion were definite signs of a concussion and judging by the pain he felt on the right side of his head it was probably a bad one too.

Gingerly, Sam began to lift and bend his right arm hoping he wasn't going to be able to feel an exposed area of skull, when all of a sudden a pain so bright it left him temporarily blinded shot from his shoulder up into his head and then ricocheted around his already weakened body like a demonic pinball machine. He was so shocked by the pain that he couldn't even verbally respond to it. Everything was bright and burning and if Sam didn't know any better he would swear that he could feel the fire boil his blood, singe every muscle and scorch every tendon as they were rudely shocked into life and screaming with agony.

Instinctively Sam's eyes clamped shut, his eyelids screwed tightly as the pain overwhelmed his fragile frame and he could feel his teeth start to sink into his tongue and the inside of his cheeks, coating his mouth with the faint taste of iron which caused him to gag. He inhaled deeply intending to fill his lungs to capacity in the hope of overriding the assault, but to his dismay, all the action did was bring to life a new injury as almost immediately Sam felt the tightness and strangled discomfort of bruising on and around his ribcage.

"Damn it", he cursed breathlessly as the oxygen level seemed to plummet unexpectedly and it became ever clearer that he was injured far worse than he had originally expected or wished to be.

Sam knew that he needed to check out his shoulder and get a good look at the damage and in order to do that properly, he loathed to admit that he would have to get up off the damp ground. But at this point in time, all that his mind could focus on was pain and it was clouding everything, so he did the next best thing, he faced it head on.

As he tried to organise and catalogue the ranging levels of pain he was enduring, hoping that this wouldn't uncover another injury but suspecting it might, Sam realised pretty quickly that it was actually a lot easier said than done. The pain definitely peaked in his head and right shoulder, that much he knew for a fact, his ribs and chest ached with each heartbeat and breath but that was manageable with controlled breathing and besides he'd had worse, his right hip felt sore but he could deal with that, but yes there it was another pain, a new one to add to his ever growing collection but for the life of him he couldn't locate it.

At first he could have sworn it was his stomach but the more he concentrated on it and tried to separate it from everything else the more it seemed to shift to his back. It wasn't a screaming sharp pain or even a quiet dull ache. No, it was just different to everything else he was feeling and that's probably why it stood out but no matter how hard he tried Sam just couldn't quite find the words to describe how it felt, he just knew it was there and that would have to be enough for now.

With the list of injuries safely filed away for later, he needed to occupy himself with something other than the pain he was currently feeling. It seemed that now he had discovered he was injured the pain levels seemed to have risen accordingly and they were refusing to be switched off.

It was time for another step.

But it was hard to think of one. All his thoughts were thin and grainy, and like sugar through a sieve they seemed to slip past him effortlessly before he even had a chance to grasp and examine them properly. The harder he concentrated the worse it got and when thinking began to hurt, the pain forced him into a decision.

It was time to begin the arduous task of moving. To where Sam wasn't sure but if he sat up hopefully then he could find somewhere to move to, somewhere that offered a little shelter and could also provide something he could lean against so that he could revisit his injuries and maybe do a little emergency first aid.

He suddenly felt slightly pathetic and embarrassed when he realised that he didn't exactly know how he was going to get up and for a split second he was glad his brother wasn't here to see him struggle with such a simple task. That thought was soon regretted though because if Dean was here he was sure, no positive, that he wouldn't even be in this situation, well maybe that wasn't entirely true, they did have bad luck when it came to just about anything and everything in life. But as least if his brother was here he could have helped to get him up off the floor, even if it was accompanied with a smart ass remark and some harmless but entirely irritating teasing.

Sam prepared himself for the pain as he rolled onto his left side and started to sit himself up. His head felt ridiculously heavy as he lifted it slightly off the floor but it was the action of trying to push himself up that destroyed his plan. His chest was re-awakened and the pain erupted, spewing red hot molten lava throughout his ribcage and his right shoulder before drowning the rest of his body. He collapsed back down to the mossy carpeted floor heaving for air, there was no way he could sit up and there was also now the distinct possibility that he had underestimated the amount of bruising he had sustained as well as its severity.

He would not allow this new revelation to get in his way, he still needed to move but now he just needed to figure out a new way of going about it. With his mind made up, Sam decided that instead of sitting up he would just have to shift his body slightly to one side, lift his head and see what he could see. The roll wasn't too bad but lifting his head was an entirely different matter, it hammered and pounded its disapproval at the action but somehow he managed it, not without pain but with a more manageable amount than before. He looked in front and then behind of where he was currently lying and found himself in the centre of a small clearing surrounded by what he could only guess were trees, he squinted and tried to decide with spinning vision which trees were closer.

It took longer than he expected, but eventually after what felt like years, Sam concluded that the trees to the north of his current position looked the best option. A moment later he had pinpointed the largest tree with the bulkiest trunk as his target but judging by how the world was tilting off kilter and from his earlier experience, there was no way in hell he could walk to it. Grudgingly Sam accepted that he would have to half drag half shuffle his way there.

With all his weight on his left side he hoped to minimise the pain this was inevitably going to cause because seemingly, whatever had happened to his battered body, had almost entirely happened to the right half of it. But as Sam straightened and moved his arm forward and used it to lever his body off the ground he realised that this was going to be a moot plan and that no matter what he did or how he did it, this was really going to hurt. However, focusing on the pain did not get him any closer to his target and so with his fathers voice echoing in his head he sucked it up and heaved his body forward until it joined the location of his arm.

Repetitive actions had never really bothered him before. In fact when he thought about it he was kind of skilled in them what with the continuous research, the weapons, the hunts, dodgy motels, crappy diners and endless car rides, his life seemed to dictate his expertise in the matter. But this, this constant pain and endless movement was proving to be the end of him.

After what felt like hours of movement Sam was exhausted and also fairly sure that he couldn't take any more. Not only was his already impaired vision beginning to darken around the edges, threatening a head first dive into unconsciousness but his body was quivering with fatigue and yelling at him to just stop and quit.

So that's exactly what he did and almost immediately he wished he hadn't as he began to doubt his capability of ever moving again.

Sam dared to lift his head slightly, hoping and even praying that he was at least close to the tree that he'd spotted earlier, but after all his hard work, all the time he had invested in this simple action and after all that he had put his body through, he had only made it half way.

Everything began to deflate. He let his body collapse to the floor and felt his face sink slightly into the grassy mud carpet, relishing at the coolness of the dirt below and had it not been for the nagging sense of failure and disappointment in himself, that for the moment he couldn't seem the shake off, Sam would have willingly allowed his mind to be engulfed in the darkness that threatened to overwhelm his consciousness.

He wasn't going to make it and that thought hurt him more than all the agony his body was currently enduring.

No, he had to get to the tree. He couldn't pass out now. He wouldn't allow it. He needed shelter and he couldn't remain here in the open even though he felt more comfortable and at home than he had felt in a long time. No, he needed to move. Hell you know what, his brother needed him to move.

With more effort than it should normally take, Sam lifted himself off the damp ground and continued his arduous journey. Needless to say, it wasn't a pleasant experience. As hard as it had been to gather strength at his first attempt, this was much harder. Half his body and mind wanted to make it to the tree but also half of it didn't and he began to feel like he had somehow been separated into two distinctive personalities, one good and one bad and both of them were playing a relentless and violent game of tug of war with his emotions.

But he soldiered on, he needed to.

After a while Sam noticed that his arm was moving forward and his body was automatically following almost like it was set on autopilot, but the pain remained and at this point in time it felt like it would never recede. He couldn't force his head up to look at how far he had travelled, fearing desperately that it wasn't far enough and he knew deep in his gut that he couldn't overcome another disappointment.

The pain was omnipresent and a distraction that Sam could do without but he was so determined that he was going to make it that he didn't allow it to slow or stop him and that was one advantage of the Winchester stubbornness gene, that for the moment, he was thankful for.

And before he knew it his hand connected with the rough bark of a tree trunk.

**XoXoX**

Relief was his first thought because he was certain he couldn't have gone much further before he collapsed and this was followed rather too quickly with the inseparable couple of pain and exhaustion. To say that he was glad this little trip was over would be the biggest understatement of the year, maybe even his life.

Sam sensed that now would be the time to haul his body up into a slouched position against the tree because if he stayed on the floor for too much longer he knew he'd end up staying there in some sort semi unconscious state and there was still things that needed to be done.

This was going to get really bad, really quickly and so there was really only one course of action as far as Sam was concerned. Do it now and do it fast. God, he was sounding more and more like his brother and with a sad smile, that cracked his already dry lips he realised that he also sounded a lot like his Dad.

He could feel the various emotions that that one thought triggered and they hit him with the force of a speeding bullet and it hurt in every way imaginable. The guilt, the grief, the fear, the regrets, everything. It was all too much. But he couldn't let himself feel it, not now, not when he had so much to do. So he pushed it all down and away, promising himself that one day he would face it, would deal with it all and then with stern features set in place, brows furrowed and lips thinned, he focused all his energy on the task ahead.

In his current position, lying on his side with his left arm stretched in front of him, moving his weary body up into a sitting position and then shuffling back towards the sturdy support of the tree was going to require several separate movements and he intended to do them all as succinctly as possible. But Sam also knew that his previous attempt at sitting had been a failure and so careful thinking was required, not to mention pain management.

He carefully planned it all out in his head because he wanted this whole movement escapade to be over and he wanted it done with as little drama and additional pain as possible. The task had been more difficult than he remembered, some ideas had been lost, others had slipped away and at one point he completely forgot what he was supposed to planning but eventually it was done. It had taken a long time, too long, which was something Sam hadn't been prepared for as he had always been a planner and part of it had always been instinctive, it was supposed to easy and this wasn't, not by a long shot. He blamed the concussion and he hoped that's all it was because as much as he liked to deny it, being the planner, the thinker, the researcher was his job, was what he was good at and without that, what was left?

_My plans for you, Sammy. You... and all the children like you._

The Demon's words spoken with his father's voice vibrated throughout his body, dredging up a lead like feeling of dread and despair and he couldn't stop himself from wondering what it could mean. Was he destined to be evil, was he already shrouded with darkness? Mentally shaking away that potentially soul destroying thought, he ran over his plan, every individual move, the order and timing until he had it all memorised. Use his left arm to lever his body up, shift and swivel his midsection then shuffle back until his back met the tree.

It definitely sounded easy.

However, the reality of the simple movement was an entirely different matter.

Just moving his left arm into position was painful enough but by the time he had settled his weight onto it Sam could feel the strained muscles tighten and begin to seize. So as quickly as he could he twisted and tried to straighten his body so that he was facing forward.

Several things happened at this point and they happened in unison.

He felt vomit rise in his throat, could feel himself listing sideways and everything went dark. And all Sam could think was that there was no way he could let himself fall.

Instinctively, he threw out his left arm just in the nick of time as it stopped his rapid unplanned descent, while simultaneously swallowing deeply to clear his airway, thus preventing the untimely arrival of the contents of his stomach from spilling down his plaid shirt and tanned jacket. Sam remained still in the rather uncomfortable position that he found himself in, head drooped down as tendrils of dark and matted hair tickled his forehead and cheek, hoping that the darkness would clear, which it did a few moments later.

All he needed to do was to shuffle back a few feet so that he could let himself fall back against the tree. The thought of being able to stop moving was all the motivation he needed and with a surprisingly vocal grunt Sam began to move his body rather awkwardly backwards, the movement alone sent pockets of agony shooting around his body which seemed to burn brighter around his ribcage and shoulder not to mention his head.

Then he felt his back come into contact with the tree and it was so heavenly he wouldn't be surprised if he shed a tear or two and immediately Sam let himself fall back into its welcome embrace.

He sensed that his eyelids were falling and he didn't even try to halt their descent, instead choosing to bask in the velvet darkness that the action provided, letting himself drift off for a few blissful moments as he floated listlessly somewhere in-between sleep and awareness.

But he was interrupted by something and it wasn't a good something. Sam felt a shift in the air and a bad feeling began to settle in his gut. Something felt off and he knew from past experience never to ignore his instincts and it was that thought that made him heave open his unwilling eyes.

Although his eyesight wasn't in the best condition at the moment, he knew what he could see and he knew that he didn't like it.

Now that he had moved to the perimeter of the clearing Sam had a much better overview of it. There were trees surrounding it, tall and overbearing but there were also several large angular boulders all of approximately the same size and shape placed rather purposely around the outline of the perfect and immaculate circular shape of the not so natural clearing.

The more Sam stared the more the unease grew.

His eyes were now darting around the clearing finding more and more anomalies. The circular clearing was unnaturally absent of any variety of flora or fauna, all it consisted of was some sort of mossy grass. He also noticed that at least one of the larger trees had a symbol carved deeply into the bark but his swimming vision wouldn't allow him any more details than that. And then there was the silence. He hadn't detected it before but now that we was concentrating on it there were no bird songs, no animal calls, he couldn't even hear the tree tops swaying in the gentle breeze.

The sight that troubled him the most, the sight that made Sam want to shout his brothers name, was the one he couldn't tear his eyes from. In the centre of the large clearing there was a small perfect circle, a shallow hole and it was filled to the brim with a thick, deep red substance and it was located exactly where he had first awoken, exactly where he had just been lying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Summary**- Set early season 2, after Bloodlust but before CSPWDT. An emotional rift is now also physical as the brothers become separated during a seemingly simple hunt, but nothing is what it seems and things go from bad to worse. Plenty of angst, suspense, action and a generous helping of hurt boys.

**Thank You**- I am so flattered and overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter, so thank you very much to everybody who reviewed (especially bee my anonymous reviewer who I couldn't thank personally), PM'd, marked my story as a favourite or put it onto alert, I am truly honoured. I hope I managed to reply to everybody, but if I missed you please accept my deepest apologies but hopefully I'll catch you next time! It was so nice to read all of your encouraging and supportive messages, it always helps to hear that you are on the right track, so thanks again for spending your time and energy on my fic, it really is greatly appreciated.

**A/N**- I'm a little nervous about this chapter, for some reason it doesn't sit too well with me and again it's a bit of a slow burner, it sort of sets the scene a little, so I hope it doesn't disappoint and that it's not too boring! I should warn you about Dean's language, it's not too bad and there's nothing you wouldn't have heard him say on the show (I think) but I just thought I'd put it out there just in case. In response to readers comments I'm going to try and post twice a week but this will depend on how much I fiddle with the next chapter! The whole story is finished and edited but if I've learnt anything from this experience its that I'm a rather obsessive tweaker, to an extreme actually. So here we go, I hope you all enjoy!

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Two**

It had all happened pretty fast. Well that's not strictly true, the attack had been fast but he wasn't exactly sure how long his younger brother had been gone before he noticed that he was fighting alone.

And Dean was definitely alone.

This whole situation had gone from a quick and simple hunt to screwed to hell in a flash and it pissed him off. All Dean wanted was to get back to normal, to get this job done and move onto the next hunt and he really didn't want to hear any more of Sam's incessant bitching about why.

In fact, he really didn't want to hear anything that came out of his brothers mouth, period.

And now that thought had been granted because Sam had gone and got himself lost. Because that was all, he was just lost. He was probably just round the corner but he was defiantly not in any of the other possible dire scenarios that were currently running though his head at an alarmingly fast speed.

Dean scanned the horizon for what felt like the millionth time and confirmed for the millionth time that Sam wasn't there, well not in eye-shot anyway. He had instinctively yelled his little brothers name when he first noticed that he was missing, only realising afterwards that it hadn't been such a smart move considering that he was in the middle of a hunt and the creature was still at large.

He hadn't heard a reply.

The urge to shout again was proving hard to fight and he had to clamp his mouth shut because he could hear himself screaming Sam's name in his head and Dean knew that the words would make their way past his lips unless they physically couldn't.

Cursing his stupidity at not thinking of this before, he dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans and brought out his cell phone, staring at the shiny screen in disgust at the lack of reception because one bar wasn't going to get him anywhere. One bar was a total waste of his time.

He dialled Sam's number anyway, you know, just in case.

He really shouldn't have been surprised when the call couldn't be connected and it was only now that he vaguely recalled the conversation he had had with Sam earlier about how they probably wouldn't get much reception, if any, out here. He stuffed the phone angrily back into his pocket, feeling the rough material graze over his knuckles and allowed himself another glance around his current location.

It was only then that Dean noticed that there was also no sign of the creature they were hunting and he re-scanned the area with a hunters eye just to make sure. Apparently it had disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. But there was no way that it had gotten its claws into Sam because it had been a frontal attack and Dean had been taking point. Then again, it had all happened unnaturally fast leaving no doubt in Dean's mind that they were dealing with something supernatural here but he still hadn't had a chance to get a good look at whatever it was that had attacked him and therefore he couldn't confirm his suspicion as to exactly what creature they were dealing with.

Who the hell was he kidding? He'd been attacked by something that he couldn't positively identify and now Sam was missing and he couldn't rule out the possibility that whatever had jumped on him had not done the same exact thing to his brother.

He needed to get moving because standing here with his thumb up his ass feeling sorry for himself and this crappy situation wasn't getting either of them anywhere. Dean knew he needed to find his brother, back track his own steps and look for clues and tracks as to Sam's location.

Unconsciously his hand travelled to the small of his back and to the hem of jeans in search of his weapon. He couldn't go anywhere if he was unarmed especially with this sneaky mother he was hunting, it was defiantly not getting the drop on him for a second time and even if by some incredible miracle it did, there was no way in hell it was living to tell the tale.

But all his hand connected with was material and warm flesh.

Damn, how the hell had that happened?

He scanned the immediate area and as he glanced down to the forest floor Dean spied his discarded flare gun lying by the base of a nearby tree and as he bent down to retrieve it he noticed two things. One, that his left thigh hurt like a bitch and two, that there was a dark stain currently spreading across the front leg of his jeans.

"What the…" Dean muttered under his breath, while he began to mentally assess the injury as well as pin a memory on it. It must have happened during the surprise attack because he sure as hell didn't wake up this morning leaking blood.

He bent over slightly and reached out his right hand, gently peeling back the denim to reveal what it was hiding. He almost didn't want to look because he knew what he would see. As he slowly dragged open his eyes his thought was confirmed. It looked nasty. There were four separate tears in the material along with four ragged slashes running down his thigh, which were on average a good six inches long, one looked like it was bordering on eight and judging by the blood that was slowly seeping, they were pretty deep.

This was the last thing he needed right now. A creature on the loose, a missing brother and now an injury. Could this hunt get any worse? A sad smirk spread across his lips as he realised that now he had thought it, it probably would.

And there it was. The hold all, with all the extra weapons, supplies and most importantly the first aid kit, was been carried by Sam. If this situation wasn't so screwed to hell it would have been comical.

Almost as a reaction to seeing the bloody wounds, the pain began. It wasn't too bad, it hurt yes, but it wasn't going to slow him down or in any way hinder this hunt or his search for his brother. His mind was set on that.

He needed to do something about it though. He couldn't wander around the forest with an open wound, well he could but he wasn't going to. Without the kit this was going to be a bit of makeshift first aid but it was better than nothing and it would have to do for now until he found Sam and by default the first aid kit.

Holding back a groan, he let his now aching body slip to the trail floor, balancing most of his weight on his right leg while he tried not to jostle the injured limb. His hands met the mud slicked floor as he reached his destination and he cursed at himself silently for yet again making such a rookie mistake, how the hell was he going to clean himself up when he was covered in mud? He vigorously rubbed his hands on the right leg of his jeans and watched as the mud was gradually transferred, they weren't spotless but it would have to do.

He shifted his gaze to the mess of his left thigh. It still looked bad and he was rather disappointed that he hadn't over exaggerated the injury at his earlier viewing. He looked closely at the wounds and found that he had at least caught one lucky break, they looked clean. There were no signs of any foreign bodies or mud in or around any of the slashes and so he figured the best and only thing he could do right now was to cover them up and put on a little pressure in the hope that that would stop the steady trickle of blood.

Earlier in the morning the weather had been all kinds of crap, the highlights being a strong wind that kept changing directions and that pathetic drizzle of a rain that doesn't soak you but manages to dampen you enough to make you feel like you were. That was how Dean found himself yet again experiencing an apparent lucky streak as he was wearing his brown leather jacket as well as a couple of layers of under clothes, which included a long sleeved dark blue shirt that would make a perfect bandage.

With a tiny shiver that rattled down his spine, Dean removed his jacket and made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt, laying it across his lap, making sure this time that it didn't get covered in mud before replacing the coat and feeling the comfort of the aged leather over his upper body. Naturally, the coat made him think of his Dad and quite honestly he wasn't sure why he still wore the it because that was the last thing in the world that he wanted to think about right now, if ever. Glancing down at the shirt, desperate for any sort of distraction, he noted that it was nothing special but that it was relatively new and he hated that he was going to have to shred it. It was the waste that irked him the most as well as the fact he would have to go shopping to buy another one. He hated shopping and damn, there was also his jeans, his favourite pair too. Huh, maybe Sam had learnt some sewing skills while he was away playing house with his girl in Stanford and a wide mischievous Cheshire cat grin spread across his face at that thought, he could definitely have fun with that later, when he'd found Sam.

Focusing his attention back to his current task Dean regretfully tore off both of the arms of the shirt along the seams, using his teeth and his brute strength because damn it was a lot harder to do than it looked. He then crammed what remained of his now ruined shirt into his nearest pocket for safe keeping or further bandaging if he needed it.

Using both hands he folded up one of the cotton arms of his shirt and let it hover just above his injured thigh while he filled his lungs to capacity preparing himself for what he knew was to come. He lowered the material over as many of the wounds that the shirt would enable, making sure to cover the two which seemed to be doing the majority of the oozing and as he made contact he immediately put on as much pressure as he could bear.

The pain was instantaneous and boy did it hurt.

But he kept the shirt in place and for good measure he pressed down a bit harder. He needed this done and quickly. For all he knew time could be running short for Sam and besides if he was going to find any tracks and clues as to his brothers location he needed to find them ASAP before they were lost.

Not wanting to peel the shirt away from the wounds in case it undid any work he had already successfully accomplished, he removed his hand and made the quick decision that he had done enough for now. He picked up the remaining arm from his now ruined shirt and again covered as much of all four slashes as he could before he tied the loose ends securely together. He looked down at his handy work realising that as soon as he moved the bleeding would most likely begin again but he couldn't afford the luxury of waiting. At least the wounds were all covered.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he tried to get to his feet. Knowing that he needed to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on his left leg, he planted his right foot firmly on the ground, making sure to avoid any slippery areas and using the tree behind him for support, he hauled himself up.

He carried on holding the tree once he was on his feet, expecting to feel a little light headed. Thankfully, he felt nothing and he was relieved also to note that the blood loss must have been minimal otherwise he would currently be kissing the muddy floor.

All things considered this could all have been much worse. Yes, this hunt was proving to be more complicated that he had first expected, yes Sam was missing and yes he himself was hurting, but he was now more confident that he was hunting a Wendigo, the claws and speed being the key factors in his reasoning and screw Sam for thinking differently and for doubting him in the first place, he is older after all and therefore always right. He was now more certain that Sam was somewhere just a little further back down the trail probably nursing similar wounds to his own which were, to his relief, nothing life threatening or anything that required a hospital.

So everything was going to be fine.

Turning his body around so he was now facing the path he had just walked down and following his own singular set of footprints, still fresh in the mud, he began his slow trek in search of his missing pain in the ass little brother.

**XoXoX**

Walking hurt and he was currently doing it with a limp and an occasional hiss. As his eyes travelled to his left thigh he saw no further bleeding had occurred, another sign that things were starting to go his way for once and that everything was going to be okay. Sam was probably just around the bend in the path that he could just see, waiting for a good ass kicking because that was exactly what he deserved.

Why did Sam have to make everything so god damned complicated anyway? If he wasn't pestering Dean about why he wanted to rush into this hunt in the first place, he was driving him crazy with his 'please talk to me about how you're feeling' eyes. Sam just couldn't accept that he was doing okay, that he coping just fine and that all he wanted was to keep busy, keep hunting and get back to normal.

What he didn't want to do was to stop, think and talk about stuff, especially Dad related stuff and it didn't escape his notice that that was exactly what Sam was trying to get him to do.

Damn it, it really bothered him when he was reminded of how different he was to his brother, especially when it came to emotional touchy feely crap. He remembered the fights Sam had had with their Dad, especially the earth moving, tectonic plate shifting ones just before he'd left for Stanford and it scared Dean that one day, that would them, that one day their differences would lead to their separation, to a chasm that wouldn't or couldn't ever be bridged.

Now he was giving himself a headache. He raised his clammy hand and wiped it across his cropped hair and face, noticing that it came back slicked with sweat, he hadn't walked that far had he? As he stopped walking he noticed that he was breathing a little harder than he remembered and also that he had passed the bend in the path, the one where he had expected his brother to be located behind.

With a trained eye he scanned the area for any clues, tracks or trails left by Sam, the Wendigo or even a fight between the two. But there was nothing. Dean cast his eyes to the floor of the trail he had been following and what he saw made him want to throw up the very generous breakfast that he had eaten this morning.

There was only one set of foot prints moulded into the muddy path infront of him. Not two. There should have been two by now.

Dean knew that Sam had fallen behind slightly, had known that his own anger had caused him to walk a little faster than normal and when he'd been attacked by that son of a bitch Wendigo, he had known that he would have to fight it off for a moment until Sam caught up, but as the seconds turned to minutes he should have known something was wrong, that Sam had not just fallen slightly behind.

But nothing could have prepeared him for this. This was bad. Actually it was really bad and Dean could feel his heart pound in his ribcage and his chest tighten, his breaths little more than strangled pants.

Staring at his own set of solitary footprints, Dean realised he had got everything wrong, that he had made a goddamn list of bad assumptions.

Clearly Sam had not just been slightly behind him, he was looking at the proof of that. He had back tracked himself a good half a mile and there was still no sign of Sam, not even a footprint. Sam was also clearly not just around the bend and who knows how much further he needed to go until he found at least a sign to acknowledge his brothers presence in this forest. If Sam had been attacked, Dean had effectively stormed off and left him to fight alone, maybe even die alone. He shook that thought out of his head, _that_ had not happened.

Maybe Sam hadn't been attacked by the Wendigo? Maybe that had been another assumption Dean had made. Maybe something entirely different had happened. At this point Dean couldn't discount anything, including Sam's earlier rather infuriating opinion that they weren't hunting a Wendigo. He had bitched for ages about how some of other previous deaths in the forest hadn't matched a Wendigo's M.O or something along those lines, loathingly Dean admitted that he had tuned out most of Sam's little rant and had halted many of the other conversations that had involved Sam's annoying little theory.

In fact now that he thought about it, he had been tuning Sam out quite a lot lately.

He needed to find his brother and now.

Dean could feel his left thigh start to cramp up as the muscles protested to their continual use as he carried on his search and he could feel the damp warmth of fresh blood absorbing through the layers of his makeshift bandages with each step he took. But he didn't care, it didn't matter, he had a job to do.

The sight of his own singular tracks were starting to feel painful as they mocked him with his apparent failure to keep a eye on Sam. It was his job, it was one of the things his Dad had asked him to do before he….left, it was something that was of second nature to him, of course he was going to watch out for Sam, that was a given. And yet somehow things had gotten so messed up that he couldn't even watch out for his brother anymore, because yeah he was obviously doing a bang up job of that, huh!

His eyes felt like they were pounding inside his head, but the strain was a necessary pain that he needed to endure. He couldn't stop looking for clues, for tracks, for some sign of Sam.

So he carried on walking. Carried on bleeding. Carried on searching.

And when he saw it, it took his eyes and brain a while to process the sight. In fact he nearly stepped right over it.

The path wasn't that well used, most local people gave the forest a wide birth as it was well known to be shrouded deeply in dark myths and folk lore and given the time of year it was also slightly overgrown. The track was in fact nearly invisible to the naked eye due to the overflow of the bushes and shrubs that caressed the edges of the frail trail. So walking straight passed and missing the camouflage green handle of the hold all could have been forgiven. But Dean's trained eye caught a glimpse of the straps of the bag that had fallen onto the left side of the trail, no other part of the hold all was visible but Dean knew what they were and what they belonged to.

He stopped still and raised his head letting his green eyes scan the area as they ran a fine tooth comb over every detail and every spot of information, letting everything be assessed and catalogued.

He couldn't stop the river of relief from running through his entire body and mind when his eyes focused on the set of Sasquatch sized footprints that he knew belonged to Sam. But as he tightened his focus he realised that what he saw made no sense whatsoever.

His eyes followed the tracks as far back as they could. From the regularity of the spacing he could tell that Sam had just been walking, he hadn't been running and judging by the lack of a third set he hadn't been followed, tracked or attacked by anything. Sam's prints were straight and regular, there were no signs of a struggle or a fight, no scuff marks or any other prints or indentations from any other part of his body.

Sam's footprints just simply stopped and he was no where in sight.

"SAM", Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, failing miserably to suppress the worry in his voice. Screw the Wendigo, if his brother was here he needed to know and now.

But he heard no reply. Cupping his hands around his mouth he tried again, "SAMMY" and all he heard in response was an eerie echo of his own voice as it bounced around the tightly huddled trees in the forest.

Crap this wasn't looking good.

It was only when Dean took a second look at Sam's footprints that he noticed that his brother had stopped mid-step, which was weird because that would mean that he would have been standing on one leg or that he had been caught off guard, meaning that he wouldn't have had the chance to stand still and place both feet on the floor, next to each other.

"What the hell?"

This was so wrong on so many levels. Dean looked around the area again, he must be missing something. But nothing changed. He could see no signs of any other tracks apart from his own. None of the trees, bushes or plants seemed to have been disturbed. He looked up at the trees for any disturbances or clues but there was nothing. Just the discarded hold all and Sam's miraculous disappearing footprints.

Sam had disappeared without a trace.

Letting his brain pick through all the possible explanations for what he was seeing, he bent down and pushed aside the bushes to reveal the hold all. Yet again, it revealed nothing. It was closed and as Dean unzipped it, he glanced inside and counted everything, even the ridiculous amount of pointless books and research that Sam had insisted they cram in. But according to his calculations nothing was missing from inside. There were no stains or marks on the bag, it was just how it was earlier this morning.

Hefting the hold all over his shoulder, he decided that now he had looked around and mentally assessed every detail it was safe to move around the scene. There just had to be something, some scrap of information, no matter how small, that for whatever reason he just wasn't absorbing.

With his leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Dean hobbled over to Sam's last known position and then past it stopping several paces later before he turned around and walked quite literally in Sam's shoes, well his prints anyway, quickly realising that this was a lot easier said than done.

Sam was a tall guy and he had stupidly long legs and apparently he also had stupidly long strides. Normally this wouldn't have mattered and Dean probably wouldn't have even battered an eyelid at having to stretch his legs just a tad bit more than usual but with an injured leg, it was no picnic.

Man, he must look a sight right now and if Sam could see him he'd be laughing his ass off and making some geeky college boy comments no doubt. It was only after that thought that Dean realised it had been a while since either of them had done that. Huh, he hadn't really thought about that before.

Glancing down only occasionally now, he took his time, making sure not to miss anything. He paid particular attention to the distant perimeter of his location, at the corners he couldn't see before and the parts of the forest that he was probably seeing for the first time, leaving no stone unturned.

As he reached the last solitary print, he could feel the dread as it clawed its way up his body, if he couldn't find something now he had no idea what to do next. There wasn't a plan B, this was all he had.

With an ounce of trepidation he lifted his eyes from the floor and swept the area. At first he thought it was just a reflection off some tree sap or something, but no, it was something else and it took him a second glance to realise that and a third to acknowledge that it was the clue he had been looking for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer -**I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- A big massive thank you to everybody who is still reading, reviewing and alerting! I know I keep saying it but it really does mean a lot and I appreciate you spending your valuable time on my little fic. And to my Spanish reviewer, thank you for your kind words and although I don't speak Spanish I managed to use a translation site on the net!

**A/N - **There's a little gore, maybe gore is too strong a word, lets say ikyness at the start of this chapter, so if you're at all squeamish consider yourself warned, oh and there's maybe a little bad language but nothing too bad, I promise. So here we go with chapter 3 where we're back with Sam and the clearing, we're still setting the scene a little but it picks up towards the end and thereafter. I hope you all enjoy and just in case you've forgotten here's a reminder of where we left Sam.

Previously in Bridging Distances...

The sight that troubled him the most, the sight that made Sam want to shout his brothers name, was the one he couldn't tear his eyes from. In the centre of the large clearing there was a small perfect circle, a shallow hole and it was filled to the brim with a thick, deep red substance and it was located exactly where he had first awoken, exactly where he had just been lying.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Three**

Blood. It had to be blood and worse still it had to be his blood, from his body which meant that somewhere he was bleeding. Sam just couldn't stop staring at it and it was beginning to upset his already fragile stomach but as much as he willed himself to look away he couldn't. It was mesmerising to look at and it felt, well weird, like a magnetic pull yet almost magically so.

There was so much to think about, so many things to worry about and apparently so many things that he needed to figure out. Like, where was he? How did he get here? Where was Dean? What was this clearing and what was the symbol carved into the bark of the tree? But all that filled his mind was the sight in front of him, his blood pooled in the shallow circle in the centre of the clearing.

It had to mean something and it couldn't be good.

He wanted nothing more than to get up onto his feet and get a closer look, but that wasn't going to happen. Not judging by how he felt. He was quite literally bone tired and he was sure that there wasn't a single part of his body that didn't hurt, in fact if it wasn't for the scene in front of him he was equally as sure that he would have passed out by now.

Sam had seen plenty of crappy things in his relatively short lifetime, many of which he wished he hadn't and most of them he could never escape from, let alone forget. But this, this was different. The whole scene, with the eerie and definitely not natural clearing, the symbol, the trees and boulders and the shallow pool filled to the brim with his blood, were on a whole different scale. It might not have been so disturbing if he had any idea of how or why he was here or even if he had the vaguest clue as to what it all could mean but since he couldn't remember much of anything at the moment, he hoped that this was as bad as it could get but suspected that this was just the tip of a very large ice burg.

And then there was Dean. The thought of him, where he could be and what was happening to him turned Sam's insides into ice and for some reason he just couldn't shake off the feeling that it was something bad. But that didn't stop the endless possibilities from whizzing through his head at a million miles per hour and he wasn't sure if his concussed brain could take it.

As that thought entered Sam's head his mind suddenly became as light as a feather and he felt himself begin to list sideways, sinking ever further to the ground below as his body became impossibly heavy and even though he was sitting down and leaning against a tree, it still seemed like a long way to free fall. He managed somehow to prop himself up by placing both his arms and hands onto the mossy carpeted floor at either side of his body, unfortunately fogetting all about the injury to his right shoulder.

He screamed. At least he thought he did, he could hear screaming and could only assume it was coming from his own chapped lips. But everything was so intense and hot that he couldn't really be sure of anything, except for the pain. Before he could assess what was actually happening things were beginning to dim, his focus softening ever further and he could feel his face blanch as the blood was leached away and then everything went deadly quiet and someone turned the lights off.

**XoXoX**

The next thing Sam knew he was waking up and it was starting to get dark. As disconcerting as it had been to wake up here the first time, the second time was decidedly more alarming as it took his weary brain a while to catch him up on his current predicament.

Huh, he must have passed out and judging by the slight drop in temperature and the darkening sky, he must have been out for at least a few hours. He could feel his eyelids begin to droop and seriously considered letting them to do, until he realised that that was a bad idea. He was outside, it was getting dark at a scarily speedy rate and he had no fire, no real shelter and he hadn't even checked out his injuries properly. He couldn't sleep now no matter how much he wanted to.

Survival techniques had been somewhat of an obsession for his Dad. From an early age both himself and Dean had been told, taught and tested on the basic rules of survival in various differing climates. There had been numerous drills, trial camping trips, books to read and even several pop quizzes which usually occurred in the car in-between hunts and were often the only highlight of the long car journeys, simply because Sam was good at them and he enjoyed the mental stimuli and of course there was also the fact that Dean despised them, that had always heightened his joy level.

So in essence Sam had no real excuses, he knew what needed to be done, he just needed to try remember everything. Okay so maybe trying to remember everything was a tad ambitious at present, so he settled for the basics. The basics he could do.

Although he had no idea where his current location was, it was becoming clear that once the sun dropped it was going to get cold and he could already feel a slight shiver prickle over his skin. Additionally, the lack of sun would also mean it was also going to get dark, so building and lighting a fire would help to solve both of those issues. The trouble lay in the fact that he was going to have to do it now before it got too cold and too dark which would mean that he needed to move and gather supplies.

He really didn't want to move and he couldn't emphasise that point enough.

It had been hell just getting here when he had a target in mind, but searching aimlessly for wood and anything else that would burn was not worth thinking about. He considered for a long time just not bothering with a fire but his logic and common sense told him that he couldn't do that, he didn't know how cold it was going to get plus he was injured.

He knew there was no point in heading towards the clearing as it was clear of any growth whatsoever, so his best bet to look for wood was both behind his current location and around the outskirts of the clearing. Having formulated a rough plan of action all that was needed was to physically get up off his ass and do it.

He thought long and hard about how to do this. He had no idea if he could stand up let alone walk around and bend down to gather anything he may find. The second problem was his vision which was still blurry and on occasion it felt like he was on board a rather small boat caught in a violent hurricane.

This wasn't going well and he hadn't even started yet.

But he needed to try. He needed to at least fight for it.

Using his left arm he pushed himself away from the tree and sort of butt shuffled himself around so that his back was now facing the clearing. Although the sun had clearly begun to set, there was still enough light for him to see it was just his vision that was letting him down.

Sam could see more trees and he immediately noticed that the absence of forest growth thankfully didn't continue outside the clearing. In fact, if anything, it was growing at an alarmingly rapid rate. Even with his eyesight the way it was he could make out all sorts of various varieties of grasses, smaller trees, flowers and bushes, all were growing healthily and most were if anything vastly overgrown, far exceedingly the normal height and width of forest flora. The contrast between the limited amount of growth in the clearing and the vast growth he was facing was for lack of a better work, creepy.

Mentally shaking the unwanted feeling away he realised that the taller brown grasses would burn well and they weren't too far away which was a plus. They would also burn fast making them excellent kindling but he needed something that would burn slower like some dead branches or shrubbery. Wanting to map out his trip in his head first was something he needed to do as he knew that his current endurance level was low and that he wouldn't last long as soon as he let go of the trees support.

Off to the right of the patch of grasses he could just make out a disturbance in the vast and endless growth. But no matter how much he blinked and tried to clear the eyesight he couldn't make out what it was but he hoped it was a fallen tree of some sort as that would mean he could lay his hands on some dead wood.

Remembering this time that his right shoulder was injured he decided to test the idea of standing and walking, simply because time was an issue and he knew he had no chance of doing this in the dark, he just hoped that his little unplanned 'nap' earlier had done his broken body some good. He shuffled around again so that when he was standing he could lean his entire left side of his body against the tree. If he thought about this too much he would never do it and so as quickly as possible he pushed himself up and stood, letting himself settle into the trees support.

He had originally thought that he would end up straight back on the floor again but thankfully that didn't happen, however he still paid a hefty price for the maneuver. If he didn't know any differently he would have thought that he was drunk, severely hung-over or a mixture of the two. Everything was swirling and swimming around, the nausea had upped its ante and there were spots and shooting stars of light passing past his eyes, all of which were making him want to fall back down onto the floor. He allowed himself a moments rest and things did settle slightly and then he took several tentative steps around the tree so that the grasses were only approximately five paces away.

Previously he had disregarded his right hip injury, thinking it was just bruised and maybe it was but walking on coltish legs had made the throb a hell of a lot more noticeable. It was only now that he was standing that he became aware that he was actually pretty badly injured. Having been in the business for as long as he had, Sam knew his body and how it reacted to pain and injury and it had been a while since it had been this bad. Knowing that there wasn't much he could do, he absently rubbed his left hand along his heated lower back making a mental note that sleeping propped up against a tree was probably not one of his best moves.

Knowing that the pain was only going to get worse and that he was loosing light galvanized him into action and before his brain could process the thought he was walking towards the grasses. Luckily there was a much smaller tree adjacent to the grasses and as he approached he reached out and wrapped his left hand around the thin trunk, fingers and knuckles paling at the tightness of his grip and allowed his weary body to fall against its desperately needed support.

On closer inspection the grasses were perfect, dry and hallow they were burn like a treat and Sam wasted no time in gathering as much as he would need, saying a silent thank you to whoever was listening that they had grown tall and so bending down was unnecessary.

Saying goodbye to his latest supportive tree, Sam reluctantly began his small trek to uncover the secrets of the disturbance he had seen moments before. He felt terrible, maybe even deathly and knew that he was edging ever closer to a total collapse. His body was quivering with fatigue and pain and his legs felt stupidly unstable and heavy and he was beginning to regret moving in the first place, fearing the repercussions that this would inevitably cause.

When he first saw the outlines of rotten wooden limbs he couldn't have felt more elated and to sweeten the deal, the fallen tree was large and had landed on several rocks and had collided with at least a couple of trees during its collapse, causing many of its smaller branches to break into smaller carryable sizes.

Maybe his luck was turning, it was about time.

However, this rare moment of pure joy was not to last, he was going to have to bend down to reach his prizes. So that's exactly what he did, barely noticing the tug of darkness that followed.

**XoXoX**

And here he was back to square one, having to wake up all over again. The thought alone urged Sam not to bother, but it would seem that his body had no intention of heeding his request as he felt each of his five senses awaken and he knew he we powerless to stop their progression and so he surrendered to their will.

He was greeted by pain, a lot of it and it was that that eventually brought him back into the real world and it took him a while to notice that he was lying face down on his stomach on the not so comfortable floor, where twigs and stones had moulded themselves into his flesh. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, his memory having forsaken him yet again, but he could make a pretty accurate guess and apparently bending down was something he could strike off his list of things he could accomplish while feeling the way he did. He could only hope that he hadn't done any more damage to himself as he wasn't sure how much more his body could handle.

If Sam was truly honest with himself he knew this turn of events wasn't entirely unexpected. He'd been pushing himself too hard and too fast but it was a common occurrence in his life, something that he rarely thought about and barely even acknowledged. Whether it was studying at school, researching or hunting he had always pushed himself to achieve his best. It was another of his fathers genes that he had inherited and it was yet another reminder that he wasn't so different from his Dad. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, especially since his Dad's death which was still too raw for him. But he did know that everything he thought he knew about the man and who he was had changed, he just wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Fearing what he would discover if he moved lead him to just stay where he was and soak in the pleasure of stillness. He knew it was wrong and that time was slipping away but he needed it, just for a moment anyway.

On a more positive note he would no longer have to bend down and judging not only by past events but the way that he could feel the last of his energy reserves seep surreptitiously into the muddy forest floor, he knew that standing and walking were no longer options at his current disposal.

Luckily he hadn't strayed too far from his earlier chosen tree and it would offer him the best amount of shelter that he could hope for at present. So all he needed to do was drag himself, the grasses and as many logs as he could manage back to the tree.

If only getting up could be as easy as passing out, but it wasn't and it took a while to steel himself against the agony of the action that seemed to sap all of his strength and fry each individual nerve but he did it and now all he had to do was try his hardest not to pass out again. Well that and finish his original task of firewood collecting.

He needed to finish this and soon, before he had no choice in the matter.

**XoXoX**

It reminded him of one of the puzzles he adored playing with as a child, as he picked up each log and patiently calculated how it fit into the jigsaw that was the pile of wood that he had built on his lap. Initially he had thought of taking off his jacket and filling that with logs so he could drag them over to the tree but the thought of removing the jacket put him off as he would have to move his shoulder and he was, after all, supposed to be avoiding passing out.

Sam was pleasantly surprised by the amount of wood he had managed to collect and stack. He had made sure not to be greedy and take too much as he knew that the journey back was going to be difficult enough without having to worry about not knocking over his carefully structured tower of fire wood.

Nearly forgetting the grasses, he began the slow and arduous task of dragging himself back to the safety and shelter of the tree.

Having already completed a similar trek earlier in the day had actually made the whole moving thing a lot easier. He knew what to do and how to move each body part and which to hold tightly against his torso, could prepare himself for the exact amount of pain he knew this would cause and could even estimate how long it would take. What he couldn't have expected was his degree of annoyance at having to try not to loose any logs. At first he lost a few and had to stop and re-stack and it would seem that the last few he had crammed on top had been a mistake. Sam had lost them several times before he gave up and left them behind.

By the time he reached the tree he was utterly spent and ready to collapse. Beads of sweat were running streams down his face, dripping clumsily off his nose and soaking into his clothes which were already clinging tightly to his clammy paling skin. Wiping the sleeve of this jacket over his face he almost missed the few droplets of blood that were beginning to absorb into the tanned brown material. He reached up and gently placed a few fingers along his left eyebrow, not surprisingly they came back red. His earlier nose drive must have been the cause for that and he was thankful that at least that was the only extra injury he seemed to have received from the fall.

But he still couldn't chase away the fear and the dread that he felt, not just over his injuries but everything else. He couldn't explain it either, not rationally anyway, all he knew was that he felt, well wrong, so did the clearing, the pit of his blood, the symbol, everything. Everything felt wrong and he had no answers, no real way of getting any answers and it was that loss of control that was troubling him. Breathing as deeply as his chest and ribs would allow, Sam tried to calm himself down, recalling the strategy he had planned earlier; one step at a time. That was his plan and he was sticking with it, come hell or high water.

Absently wiping his bloody fingers over the rough material of his jeans he turned his thoughts towards the task ahead. Building a fire was not a problem, lighting one was a different matter entirely. He knew how to create smoke and a flame through the fiction of stone against stone or wood against wood, but it took time and energy and they were two things he didn't currently have.

As he stopped and tried to think about how to solve his current predicament, he found himself on familiar ground as yet again he had to force himself through the cloudy haze of confusion and disorientation. It was only then, when things began to clear, that it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't checked his pockets. He blamed his concussion and absolute exhaustion for his slow thinking and total lack of rational thought.

How could he not have thought to do that earlier?

Feeling a slight rush of adrenaline and excitement at what he may find, Sam dug his left hand into all the pockets of both his jacket and jeans. Knowing that he was a reasonably organised guy and that he liked to be prepared for most eventualities, he grew hopeful that this action may just, quite literally, save his life.

Some of things he guessed he might find, others were a total mystery to him.

Firstly and most importantly he found his phone and at first sight all he could think was how the hell had he not thought about that before now, on his second glace he saw another piece of his phone and spotted another couple of fragments next to that. Taking a closer look at the shattered pieces he realised it was a lost cause and a quick rescue out of here was out of the question.

Next there was a full book of matches that he had apparently picked up from a motel called _Sleep Easy, _in someplace he couldn't read as the text was too small and fuzzy, Minnesota. The motel name didn't ring any bells but it did make him wonder if that was where they were currently staying which would mean that he may now have an inkling of where he was. There was also his pen sized Maglite, which thankfully was still in working order and might prove useful when the sun went down. Keys for the Impala came next but they were of no help as were his wallet, money clip and a couple of old crumpled receipts. Half a tube of Mentos were the only forms of nourishment he located and finally there was a small silver Jerry flask which he assumed was filled with holy water.

The more puzzling items that he found included two miniature sized bottles of Wild Turkey, which were both ironically in one piece when his phone was in several. The bizarre thing was that Dean was the whiskey drinker not him and so the larger question was why in the world would they be in his pocket? Mentally shrugging his shoulders at that mind boggler, he also found a folded up piece of paper covered in his own small writing but as much as he tried to focus his spinning vision he couldn't read it, man his concussion was really trying his patience at the moment. The more he thought about it the more he realised that it was unlike him to carry notes or research around in his pockets unless it was something important and he just hoped that maybe, after some rest, he would be able to read it and that it would shed some light on what was going on here.

The last weird thing he encountered was actually more of what was missing. He had double checked his pockets and all over his person but still came back empty handed. Discounting the holy water, he had absolutely no weapons. No gun at the small of his back, which wasn't so strange considering he didn't know the circumstances of how he got here, besides Dean was the one who hated going anywhere without some form of firearm. But the knife strapped to his ankle was gone, in fact the strap was missing too and there was no way he went anywhere without that.

Noticing that it was almost sundown, Sam turned his thoughts away form the morbid and quite frankly disturbing possibilities of what this could all mean and quickly switched his attention to building the fire; breaking up the grasses and placing a few small twigs and branches on top before using a couple of _Sleep Easy_ matches to spark a flame and bring the fire to life. The grasses did burn well and soon enough it was burning strong and hot and he placed on several of the smaller branches, followed a minutes later by a few logs and stacked the rest against the tree. It was only after all the action, when he was leaning on the tree basking in warmth that he realised that he had done it all without thought or pain.

He was troubled by that but couldn't muster the strength to worry about it now.

Sam knew he should spend a little time looking at his injuries but with no supplies there was little he could do, besides he could feel the warmth of the fire drain away the last of his energy. He was done for now and he promised himself that in the daylight he would check them out but right now there was nothing he could do but sleep.

He was just beginning to drift off into the welcomed bliss of oblivion when he heard something or least he thought he did. He hauled open his weary eyes and with blurry vision he carefully scanned the horizon. Nothing. There was nothing there and he couldn't hear anything, no sounds at all. He waited a moment more and examined his surroundings again. Still nothing.

The next moment his eyes were closed which was weird because he didn't even remember closing them. And this time it was more of a vibe. A feeling that he wasn't alone and as much as he tried to, he couldn't ignore it. And so, yet again he opened his lead laden eyes and for a split second he really thought he'd lost it, that he must be seeing things. But he wasn't because he blinked repeatedly and nothing changed and with a pained grimace he sat himself up so he could get a closer look, just to make sure.

It couldn't be, but it was and all he needed was confirmation, he just wasn't sure he could speak.

Sam blinked his pain away laboriously and coughed slightly hoping it would clear his throat, but instead he felt a pull in his chest that momentarily stole all the air from lungs. He had meant it to come out as a statement, had wanted it to sound firm and sturdy but it ended up being more like a question and it came out quietly, almost a whisper but with the rough texture of sandpaper.

"Dean?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer **- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You** - What can I say? You guys are still reading, still reviewing and still alerting, you blow my mind and I can't convey how thankful I am, I truly can't!

A huge thank you also to the wonderfully talented **Harrigan **(Go Team Waffle Go), who has generously offered her beta'ing skills. She truly is a fountain of all knowledge and without her help I would be lost in a sea of never ending sentences and pointless waffle! I've really worked her hard and she hasn't complained once, so thank you so very much for all your time and effort, it really is appreciated. However I have tinkered a lot since she waved her magic wand, so all the mistakes are mine, all mine!

**A/N**- So here we go with chapter 4 where we're back with Dean and his search for Sam and I'm thrilled to say there's some action and maybe even a few clues and answers! A few readers have also been asking about updates; I'm still trying to post two chapters a week but the next few are a bit longer so it may take a while longer to get them posted but I'll do my very best! This is Dean so the language is a little heated and there's some ikyness but neither are too bad. I hope you all enjoy and just in case you've forgotten here's a reminder of where we left Dean.

Previously in Bridging Distances...

With an ounce of trepidation he lifted his eyes from the floor and swept the area. At first he thought it was just a reflection off some tree sap or something, but no, it was something else and it took him a second glance to realise that and a third to acknowledge that it was the clue he had been looking for.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Four**

Dean was panicking.

He stumbled along in an uncontrolled sprint, slipping and sliding on the slime coated rocks. Vines and branches whipped viciously across his face until inevitably he lost his footing and landed clumsily onto the damp, mossy ground. It's not like he felt the fall, not really, just a faint echo of pain which clung to the outskirts of his consciousness where he could easily ignore it.

When he finally reached the tree and was looking right at it, he could feel the worry obliterate his insides. He reached out his hand towards the rough bark of the tree and tentatively placed his calloused fingers in the tacky substance he had spotted from the path.

Sam's blood.

The sight lit a protective fire deep inside Dean. He had Sam's blood on his hands, literally and metaphorically. But he didn't know that for sure; maybe it wasn't Sam's blood. He needed to take a step back and look at things with a hunter's eye, not a brother's. He couldn't afford to make this personal, at least not yet, not until he knew if Sam was safe and with that in mind he reined in his emotions accordingly.

With his game face firmly in place, Dean took a closer look at the blood. There wasn't much but there was enough to travel lazily down the bark leaving a morbid stream in its wake. Judging by the texture and feel, it had been spilt recently and although that was good news it didn't make Dean feel any better.

Breaking his trance from the blood, Dean had a look around his current location for further clues. It didn't take long for him to confirm that Sam had in fact been here, that it was his blood that coated the tree. Lying discarded on the floor not too far from the base of the tree was Sam's flare gun, which on closer inspection remained fully loaded. Bending down with a grunt and with a hand supporting his clawed left thigh, Dean retrieved the weapon and placed it in the duffle bag, making sure his own was safely in position at the small of his back.

Glancing down at his feet Dean's confusion arouse again as he saw no physical signs or marks that Sam had been anywhere near the tree nor was there any evidence that he had landed here after his collision. There were no footprints, disturbances or tracks, nothing. Just Sam's blood on the bark of a tree and his flare gun.

Dean had always been a good tracker. He remembered fondly the day as a seven year old child when he had been on his first tracking training exercise and had surprised his Dad with his speed, accuracy and tenacity. He could still to this day remember the words of praise his Dad had offered him with a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Turning his full attention back to his search he was disheartened to learn that even after his second search of the area he still came back empty handed. As he began his third and final scan he tried to piece together the clues he had collected but they still left him baffled.

According to what he had found so far, Sam had been walking down the path where he had stopped mid-step, leaving no further tracks and had somehow managed to viciously land at least 10 metres away against the tree. This in turn caused him to bleed and lose his flare gun, before he apparently disappeared without even touching the floor.

Dean was missing something. He knew that for a fact.

Wendigos are mean sons-of-bitches but there was no way one could have pushed or thrown Sam that far without leaving any traces of its presence whatsoever. Maybe Sam was right, maybe something else was in this forest, maybe the Wendigo was tag teaming with a supernatural buddy? If so, this hunt was so screwed he didn't know where to begin fixing it.

It was only after Dean took a step away form the tree that he realised it was a big mistake. He felt a slash of pain hack mercilessly into his injured left thigh. With a muffled grunt he forced oxygen back into his lungs and took a quick look down. That's when he noticed his make shift bandage was sodden with blood.

Everything suddenly felt woozy and weightless and then his world switched to black and white and his hearing buzzed. The only thought he had was that he didn't feel so great before he felt a surge of exhaustion and helplessness slam into him and he dropped powerlessly to his knees.

This whole heap of crap that he was wading through was his fault. There was no one else to blame.

He'd been the one who had wanted to leave Bobby's for this hunt, who wanted to get back to hunting full stop. It was him who had ignored every warning that Sam had made that this hunt wasn't what it seemed and no matter how much his brother had pleaded, it had fallen on deaf ears. He was also the one who had insisted that they didn't need to do any more research - it was clearly the work of a Wendigo - and that they should head straight off to the forest in the morning after a few hours sleep.

The part that made Dean feel sick was that he was the one who had stopped listening when Sam said that he'd a bad feeling about this and he had been the one to storm off ahead, on the muddy trail leaving his brother, his entire family behind.

And now Sam was gone and Dean was truly alone.

**XoXoX**

It was a bird's harsh cry that brought Dean back to awareness and away form his thoughts. The sky had darkened slightly and he pulled his jacket tight around his frame as he felt the chill in the damp air, feeling somehow that he was missing something.

Glancing at his watch he noticed that he had lost close to an hour. How he'd managed to do that was beyond him. He felt heavy and weighed down by everything. Too much had happened recently and this hunt was pushing him to his limit. He couldn't carry any more on his shoulders and he knew that he was drowning with its weight.

How the hell could his Dad do this to him? How could he say those words and just leave forever like it meant nothing, like it didn't change everything? How could he let those be the last words he said and how dare he die like that?

His Dad wasn't supposed to die, nothing could hurt him, the man was indestructible.

He felt betrayed and abandoned. The anger was hot and it had been bubbling just under his skin ever since the day his Dad had left forever. He was so mad at him it quite often left him speechless with no way to vent the feelings he was trying so hard to bury. So he beat the crap out of the Impala, shouted harsh words at Sam and even gave his brother a nice bruise to rival the collection he had only just gotten rid of.

He didn't mean to take it out on Sam. He truly didn't. Sam had lost a father too but every time Sam pushed him to talk and to feel it just added fuel to his fire of burning anger. He just couldn't handle any of this and apparently he wasn't equipped to either.

He ran his clammy hand through the soft spikes of his hair and over his face. He was tired. Exhausted actually. He was sick of feeling this way and the irony of it all was that as much as he pushed Sam away he was the only one who hadn't left him, who was still here. Until now, until today and this bitch of a hunt. It was that thought that jerked him out of his current bout of unavoidable melancholy.

His younger brother was god knows where, involved in god knows what. And he was sitting on his ass feeling sorry for himself.

Come on Winchester, pull yourself together and get back to work.

His leg injury had been long forgotten. It wasn't until he placed his body weight on it that it made itself known. A heat wave of agony spread up his leg as it buckled under him and he fell, landing painfully on his tail bone.

"Nice one Dean", he muttered to himself.

Glancing down at the blood drenched shirt he realised that he had no choice but to get the first aid kit out and deal with this properly. Risking Sam's life on the hope that he didn't pass out from blood loss or bleed to death wasn't an option. He would do a quick check and wrap and even though he suspected a few stitches might be required he simply didn't have the time or the patience to do that now. It was probably a mistake but Dean would accept the consequences without question.

Pulling out the kit from the hold all, he opened it and removed what he deemed necessary, ie the bare minimum. Peroxide, some sort of antiseptic cream that Sam had chosen and he had never seen before, butterfly stitches, two large padded bandages, gauze and tape.

It was disturbing how normal this was for Dean. He remembered the rushed training his father had given him the first time he had returned home late one night from a rather brutal hunt with an angry spirit, bruised and bleeding. He had told Dean to stay calm and listen to what he said and to obey his instructions without question. From that day on he had dealt with the majority of his Dad's wounds as well as Sam's, which were always a lot harder to swallow.

However, it had been a while since he had taken care of his own battle injuries. When Sam left for Stanford and he had split from his Dad, he had taken care of a few, nothing too serious but bad enough to make him wish he didn't have to do it alone. During the last year, since Sam had joined him, it had taken Dean a while to get used to his presence and to not being alone. But they had both slipped back into their old hunting habits and routines seamlessly and Sam had wordlessly taken over his previous duty of tending to Dean's injuries and visa versa.

It felt weird to be again taking care of his own wounds again. Wrong, even.

Almost without thought, Dean undid his makeshift shirt bandage and gently prised it away from the slashes where the blood had in some areas effectively formed a glue, sticking the wound and shirt together. As soon as he separated the two, blood ran freely down the sides of his thigh, further soaking his jeans and dropping onto the ground.

Bundling the shirt together he applied pressure and held firm. Uncapping the peroxide with one hand was tricky but not impossible. He doused the wounds and watched with morbid curiosity as his skin sizzled and bubbled. The action of wiping them dry and adding a touch more pressure proved to be painless as the whole of his thigh was reasonably numb after its chemical clean.

Dean squeezed a generous amount of antiseptic cream over the slashes before attempting to coax the butterfly stitches away from their packaging. This simple task was proving to be a total bitch. His hands shook and he cursed as he struggled to pull the jagged edges of the wound together. Having done that Dean made sure that the two large padded bandages covered every millimetre of his damaged thigh, stuck them down with a little tape and then wrapped a generous amount of gauze around them before securing the whole thing with more tape.

It was nothing more than a half assed job but hopefully now he could at least focus on finding Sam and not be preoccupied with such a little thing as bleeding to death.

He made short work of packing away the kit and placing it in the duffle before making his way up into an unsteady stand. It was only then that he remembered that he had absolutely no leads to his brothers location. No clues, nothing.

He tightly clenched his fist and stuck the tree with pure frustration.

"Goddammit" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Just wander aimlessly around the entire forest until he bumped into Sam? This was useless; he no idea what to do. If his frigging phone was working he would have called someone, probably Bobby, for help but it wasn't. Stupid forest and its lack of cell service! To make matters worse it was also starting to get dark.

He needed to chill. This was ridiculous. There had to be another clue; all he had to do was find it. Back track his steps and see if anything caught his eye. Or maybe even look through his Dad's journal and the mass of crappy notes that Sam had put in the duffle. Maybe then he could figure out what was going on and hopefully that would in turn lead to him finding Sam.

He was so intent on his quest for clues that he was almost too busy to notice it.

But he had been in this business too darn long to miss the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. And there was no doubt whatsoever in Dean's mind that he was no longer alone. He made no sudden movements and continued doing what he was doing, while also looking for signs of this bad mother that was sneakily stalking him.

Ears attuned to the natural hum of the forest, he tried to identify where this thing was but it wasn't making this easy. He heard and saw nothing.

By the time he heard movement coming from behind it was already on top of him. He felt sharp and overly pointy claws skim over the middle of his back, going straight through the countless layers of material and shallowly grazing his skin.

It was official, Dean hated Wendigos.

The creature slammed into Dean with a vicious speed and force that knocked him to the floor. Winded, Dean gasped to draw oxygen into his lungs as he scrambled to defend himself from the next attack.

Staggering back to his feet, he brought out the flare gun and pointed it firmly in front of himself before he secured his stance and turned slowly in a tight circle, just waiting for it to make another move.

He was so ready to waste this sucker.

But for the second time today it had disappeared. Which made absolutely no sense. It had the upper hand and could have taken him to its nest or whatever. Hell, it had had the opportunity to kill him outright twice now and yet it had let him go again with only a few scratches.

This was weird and Dean was used to weird but this, this was really weird and totally out of character. It was definitely up to something, but for the life of him Dean couldn't figure out what.

Keeping his weapon close, Dean bent down and collected the duffle making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He paused when something caught his eye. A rust coloured stain on the ground.

More blood. Just a few drops this time but Dean still had to steel himself against the sight. He could only assume it had once been running through the veins of his younger brother.

Crap, he was losing light fast and this was absolutely the worst time to be looking for clues in a forest with a Wendigo after your ass. This was perfect. Could things suck any harder? Of course they could, he was a Winchester.

Dean played dumb a lot. He wasn't really sure why, maybe it had something to do with being raised to follow orders like a good soldier, not to question, not to think, just obey. But he was smart. Maybe not as book smart as Sam. But he knew stuff:- he did read, he paid attention and he was quick learner. And he knew that if there had been a few drops of blood spilt there would probably be more, which meant that he could follow them and track down Sam's whereabouts.

**XoXoX**

Dean didn't know whether to feel excited about the trail of blood he had found so far or to start to worry about exactly how much blood Sam had lost and could still be losing. All he knew was that he was following a strong lead. Even though it was a sick thought he didn't really want them to stop and silently he thanked whatever depraved deity was watching over him.

His leg was getting gradually worse, but the pain was demanding attention that he couldn't spare. He focused the pain into the back of mind just like he'd done it a thousand times before. Family came first, they always would.

Sometimes the splashes of blood were plain in sight, where the ground was rocky or the terrain was flat. Sometimes Dean had to get up close and personal with the underbrush and tree bark to find signs of the path Sam had travelled. To Dean's horror it began to look like whatever had Sam had played a perverse game of ping pong with his body. By his count Sam must have collided with at least three trees so far without once landing on the floor.

Dean had long since surpassed being worried and pissed.

Now he was lethal.

Something shifted behind him. Dean heard a branch snap and that was all he needed to spur him into action. He whipped his body around, brought out the flare gun, spotted a blurry figure, aimed, and fired. The creature wailed as it ricocheted off the trees that surrounded them and Dean knew he'd hit it.

Then the Wendigo righted itself and froze, ten metres away. Its skeletal frame was hunched over, its arm and side blackened, singed and bloodied. He'd only managed to wing the damn thing. But it wasn't down for the count. It painstakingly raised it head, as if to glare at Dean, daring him to make a move.

And then it charged.

Dean dropped the now useless weapon to the floor and threw himself into a rushed tuck and dive towards the duffle and Sam's flare gun.

It was a long shot and it failed miserably. The Wendigo veered, hot on his heels and slashed with its claws as it pounced. Dean did the only thing he could think of: he kept rolling and somehow managed to manoeuvre the duffle so that he was now clutching it with both hands over his chest and abdomen, shielding as many of his vital organs as possible. Using his legs he kicked and shoved the Wendigo off before it had a chance to connect its claws with his own soft flesh.

It was one of those moments that seemed to run in slow motion. Usually in Dean's experience that meant that something bad was about to go down.

He wasn't wrong.

The Wendigo struck hard against a tree, giving Dean a chance to unzip the duffle bag and retrieve the second flare gun. But then it all started to get real interesting. The Wendigo stood up just as Dean had finished unzipping the bag and although it was wounded, it was still fast. But instead of continuing the attack it got up, turned around and flew off in the opposite direction.

"What the hell?" Dean grunted, slightly out of breath, heart hammering and feeling the adrenaline rush diminish.

It had left, again. What was going on? What sort of alternate universe had he been transported to where lethal flesh-eating creatures abandoned their next meal on more than one occasion? Sure, Wendigos were tactical: they liked to wait for the perfect moment to strike. But they didn't play games with their food.

This was unheard of. Dean was beginning to fear what he gotten both himself and his brother into when he had decided to take on this hunt.

In slow motion, Dean lifted his head and looked towards the direction the Wendigo had escaped in. It was gone. But something else caught his eye. Something much worse.

Another tree and yet another bloody stain. Dean was beginning to think that he had seen enough of those in one day to last him a lifetime. But this was different from the others. This one was really bad and Dean could feel his stomach churn.

It wasn't the tree the creature had collided with and even from here he could tell that the blood was reasonably dry and had not been freshly spilt.

The tree was old, large and had a wide sturdy trunk. One of the upper branches had been torn away from the trunk, probably in a storm, and had fallen on top of some of the smaller ones further below. This had created several very sharp and jagged stumps where these branches had also been ripped away from the tree. One of them was completely saturated in blood, from base to tip, leaving a splattered red modern art design on the trunk behind.

And just to hammer the nail down into the coffin, under the gory sight Dean could see Sam's knife and ankle strap.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You**- I want to thank everybody who is still reading, reviewing and alerting! I didn't expect to get this much support on my first ever fanfic, it's greatly appreciated. A quick shout out to Amy and Me, my anonymous reviewers who I couldn't thank or reply to personally, I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long for this chapter! For the record I apologise for the cliff-hangers, most of the time they just write themselves but in my defence I have to do something to keep you all reading!!!!

To **Harrigan**, my fabulous beta. I can't thank you enough for all your hard work, encouragement, support and advice, it's valued dearly and I'd be lost without your help. Go Team Waffle! I've fiddled again, so any mistakes are all mine!

**A/N** - We're back with Sam and the clearing, I don't think that there's anything to warn you about here but just in case; language and general grossness. Here we go, I hope you enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

Sam blinked his pain away laboriously and coughed slightly hoping it would clear his throat, instead he felt a pull in his chest that momentarily stole all the air from lungs. He had meant it to come out as a statement, had wanted it to sound firm and sturdy but it ended up being more like a question and it came out quietly, almost a whisper but with the rough texture of sandpaper.

"Dean?"

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Five**

Sam would know his brother in a line-up of shapeshifters wearing Dean's face.

He had a certain stance which conveyed a cocky confidence as well as a touch of vulnerability that maybe only Sam could see. As much as he tried to hide it, Dean's face spoke volumes, you just needed to know how to read it. Sam had a lifetime's experience in that field.

Whatever was standing in front of him, was definitely not his brother.

It was an exact carbon copy of Dean, which was probably why it took him a moment to realise that something was off. It was wearing clothes that Dean would wear, dark jeans and a brown leather jacket but the face was blank, the eyes were dull and devoid of anything remotely human. It stood poker straight, shoulders squared, limbs still and controlled as it stared right at Sam. He would swear its eyes were locked with his, but couldn't confirm the thought as things were still twirling in unsteadiness.

It hadn't replied when Sam called Dean's name, not that it needed to now. Sam already knew the answer. But all the staring, stillness and silence was unnerving and he didn't know whether he should speak again or continue playing this perverse game of who could stare the longest and the hardest.

All Sam could do was to return the stare. He could feel his ever-present headache step up a gear as the tension and strain peaked, but he couldn't shift his gaze now, he would lose face, look weak. He heard himself snort in his head - boy was he channelling Dean! But there was an element of truth and of reason in the act, because he was weak right now. He was unarmed, his body was bordering on useless and in his current state he would lose miserably in a fight with a newborn kitten.

Sam searched for clues as to what this creature could be. His first thought was a demon, which wouldn't be surprising after recent events. But there were no black pupils; he had squinted through the feeble light of the fire several times to be sure of that. So not a possession then. Thank God, he couldn't deal with that. Especially not after his Dad and Yellow Eyes. Also, it hadn't attacked; it was just staring, which was drastically out of character if it was a demon.

Even through the darkness Sam could see the light of the fire dance and reflect off its eyes and he saw no flash or glare, so not a shapeshifter then. He was running out of options. Something tickled in the back of his brain - somehow this was familiar. Almost … expected? But he couldn't nail it down, no more than he could any memory of what had happened to him. The one fact that he couldn't ignore was what he felt in his gut. Whatever this was, it didn't feel like his brother. More like an empty shell, a cheap imitation. Like something was borrowing the image and taunting him with it for whatever reason.

The silence was agony and the questions were building and so with measured care, he caved.

"What are you?" he croaked. God even his voice hurt.

No answer. Just more deadly silence and although he hated to admit it, this situation was making him increasingly nervous.

"Where's my brother?" he asked, voice cracking halfway through the short question.

Still nothing. And the unease was growing stronger.

"Why am I here? Did you bring me here?" he panted breathlessly, even the questions beginning to exhaust him. He sank back against the tree trying desperately to keep his eyes open.

Whatever this was, it wasn't talking, and maybe some small part of Sam was glad about that. Even though he knew this wasn't Dean, it was hard to see something so alike to his brother look at him with such a vacant stare and total lack of concern. Although Sam felt like the crappiest form of crap right now, he knew that he looked a hell of a lot worse and if this thing was Dean he'd have thrown an aneurysm with worry over his little brother's obvious health issues.

But even the real Dean had been looking at him differently ever since their Dad's death. It was subtle, of course, a small flash of anger or a glimmer of pain that Sam had caught out of the corner of his eye. But it was directed at him. It hurt, maybe more than it should, because Dean was grieving and he shouldn't let stuff like that get to him. He had tried to talk to his brother, to make sure he was at least trying to deal with their Dad's death and not just putting on a 'I'm coping just fine' face. But that had failed miserably on more than one occasion now.

_Now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late_

He'd deserved that. Yeah, it hurt, but the truth usually did in his experience. That didn't mean that Sam wanted to hear those words come out of Dean's mouth. Maybe that made him a selfish bastard, or maybe it didn't, he really didn't know. All he knew was that it had stung coming from his brother.

Movement caught his eye. As he tried to tighten his focus, he could see that the Dean look-alike had taken two steps forward before stopping, eyeing the fire with great suspicion and maybe even a hint of caution.

The spitting flames of the fire were the only thing separating the two of them.

"You ask a lot of questions," the creature spoke. The voice matched Dean's pitch but the tone was all wrong, lacking any emotion whatsoever, just flat and monotone.

There was a slight pause and Sam had just drawn in a painful breath to respond before it spoke again.

"That is why you are here and why you will not leave." The words were spoken clearly and concisely as though it had planned and rehearsed each individual word.

"What do you mean? What are you? What do you want with me?" Sam tried to quell the tremor in his voice.

"More questions," the look-alike sneered, its cold stare and tone unchanged. "That is unwise," it added, the words heavy with warning.

"Unwise? I don't understand. Where's Dean?" Sam said defiantly. He wanted, no, he needed answers.

"Again with the questions. You will receive no answers. Just know that you will not leave." This time it was said more forcefully and with a hint of finality.

Then, the creature tore away its piercing gaze, and walked towards a huge fir tree. Before Sam could say another word, it parted the heavy branches and disappeared within the encroaching darkness.

**XoXoX**

Sam was struggling. Actually he was struggling with a lot of things all at the same time and the encounter with the Dean look-alike wasn't making this any easier. It took him several minutes to process what had just happened, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't make sense of anything.

In fact he was even more confused now than he was before.

He knew no more than he had previously, except that apparently he wasn't supposed to leave. Well, that wasn't happening. He was definitely leaving. But right now it was pitch black and so he'd have to wait until day light and then maybe once he had rested up, he could get out of here, for good.

As the flames danced he realised that the last time he had been so focused on a fire was their Dad's funeral pyre. Both he and Dean had been drawn into the fire's spell then, as it burned away a part of their past and forged a new future, one where the only family they would ever have was each other.

It was a painful memory, yet Sam found himself returning to it more and more. Maybe it was the feeling that the fire somehow cleansed away some of the anger that he felt towards his Dad. Or maybe because it was all so final. His Dad was gone and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't change the past or the complicated relationship they had shared. But what he could do was to try and change how he felt about him now. Maybe try to understand him, to make amends, not just for his Dad, or even Dean, but for himself and his own peace of mind.

Still locked in his thoughts, Sam's fingers unconsciously reached out for the flask and brought it to his parched lips. Holy water or not he still needed a drink and he found himself savouring the feel of the cool water as it ran down his sore throat. He screwed the lid back on one-handed and safely pocketed it. He wasn't hungry, which was good since he had absolutely no food. But he did fumble his way through the paper and foil wrapper of the mints, placing one on his tongue and letting the sugar replenish his rapidly diminishing energy reserves.

Why would this creature, whatever it was, dress up like his brother and tell him that he couldn't leave? Sam could only assume that it had brought him here, but why?

He felt weird too. Not just because he was injured and tired. No, it was something else. It was like he had forgotten something, but it was just of out reach.

Sam searched his aching head for his most recent memory. All he could come up with was a vampire hunt and Gordon. Then they returned back to Bobby's, something about a new part that had arrived for the Impala, and even that was a little hazy.

But that was it, nothing else. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was missing a whole lot between then and now.

Unconsciously he shifted his position a little, trying to ease the throb in his back as it returned with a vengeance. Regretfully he realised that he should have put more thought into the action. Every single injury he had sustained from the minor scrapes and bruises right up the flaring agony in his shoulder were simultaneously awakened and he couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped.

Sam bucked away from the tree, arching his back, and nearly passed out. He felt himself falling and almost wished it would push him over the edge into blessed unconsciousness. He landed on his good left side and rolled so that he was lying flat on his back, seeking some semblance of comfort beside the fire.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, to escape from this hellish nightmare and sink into the darkness that now surrounded him. His eyes were closed and he studied the colourful patterns the flames created on the back of his eyelids. Until his sluggish thoughts processed a sticky wetness against his cheek, and Sam forced his eyes open to investigate.

Even in the poor light of the fire he could see that his entire right shoulder and the majority of his chest were matted with blood, forming a gruesome crust. Some of the blood had dried, peeling away in frayed flakes. However, some had been freshly spilt, trickling warmly down his chest and side, soaking greedily into any material that got in its way.

His weary brain was growing sluggish, and no matter how frustrated he was at being unable to remember - even to think clearly! – his body gave out and he slipped into unconsciousness at last.

**XoXoX**

As a young child Sam had been an extremely light sleeper. He had awakened at the slightest whisper of noise and much to the annoyance of his brother, that had never changed.

Now there were also the visions and the recurring nightmares. The death of loved ones and strangers. The violence and blood. The hurt and the sorrow.

Taking all of that into consideration it would seem that Sam always had and always would have, a troubled relationship with sleep.

That is until now.

The sleep that had eventually found him was thick and heavy and it encased him completely, allowing nothing to penetrate its airtight cocoon. For the first time in a long time, Sam was blissfully unaware of everything. He didn't notice the fading embers of the fire nor the sun that was now beginning to rise slowly in the sky. He had no idea of the blood that was still being leached away from his thirsty body, or even the dark formless figure that watched him silently from the sidelines.

**XoXoX**

_"Something else is going on in that forest. I don't think it's a Wendigo," Sam insisted hearing an impossible echo inside the car. He knew that he was stepping on shaky ground here, but he was hoping and praying that maybe this time he could get through to his stubborn-assed brother. _

_Leaning forward, Sam turned the volume of the blazing guitar riffs right down. He could feel his brother's body stiffen as the atmosphere inside the Impala took a drastic nosedive._

_"Come on Sam! Maulings in a forest? Sounds pretty clear cut to me. You want to tell me why I'm wrong about this?" Dean said, frustration laced lightly in his tone._

_And he knew, he just knew that what he was about to say was going to cause even more tension and a knot began to tie itself into his stomach._

_"I just, I have a bad feeling about this and so I…"_

_"A bad feeling. Seriously. Is that all you got? Because that's pretty weak Sam, even for you" Dean interrupted, not far off shouting now, and Sam could tell that if he pushed even a tiny bit more Dean would explode. His fuse had been shortened dramatically ever since their Dad's death. Maybe his own had, too._

_But he really didn't have much of a choice here. He knew that the words that had just escaped his lips sounded pathetic. A bad feeling. He would have scoffed himself if this whole hunt didn't feel so earth-shatteringly wrong. He needed Dean to understand that there was some evidence from the previous victims that wasn't typical of Wendigo behaviour._

_"Dean please, I've been doing some research of my own and…"_

_"You've done what?" Dean asked, his brow now creased deeply in anger and eyes wide open as he whipped his head around to face Sam ._

_"Some research and…"_

_"What - you don't trust that I can do my own research? I know I'm not a college boy genius like you, but I know my job okay and I don't appreciate being told that I've done a piss poor job of it." Dean's knuckles paled as his grip on the steering wheel tightened._

_Sam knew that he had blown his chance. That wasn't what he meant. He knew his brother was smart. It's just that Dean refused to believe that something else could be going on in the forest. He wanted simple a hunt; a quick kill and as far as he was concerned, he'd got one._

_"You know what, Sam? I'm sick of this. All of it. I've heard enough of your crap already, so quit dumping it on me and for once could you just cut me some frigging slack and trust me on this?" Dean spat and this time he did yell, his eyes alight with anger. _

_Sam had never in his life felt so separated from his brother and he was sitting right next to him. If his suspicions were correct, this hunt was the last thing that either of them needed._

He couldn't quite put his finger on whatever it was that had awoken him. He had a feeling at the back of his brain that it was important, that it was something he should try to remember, but as soon as the thought was created it was lost again.

His world felt ominously disjointed and he knew he was in serious crap right now. He felt drained, impossibly exhausted. The pain was insurmountable and he was too tired to think straight.

Cranking open his eyes was the first thing he did, or at least tried to do. His dark lashes were glued together in a mixture of mud, sweat, blood and tears and pulling them apart was no fun. In the end, he was forced to lift a heavy and rather uncoordinated left arm so that he could physically remove the encrusted gunk and grit with his shaky, clammy fingers.

The early morning light, although not half as bright as it would be later, still felt like acid to his eyes and he slammed them shut. Taking it slowly this time, he gradually opened his eyelids, allowing his fragile corneas time to adjust to the light.

His vision, he was disappointed to discover, was still poor. He felt both hot and cold, sometimes at the same time. If anything, he felt much worse then he did last night.

The memory of the clearing and the time he had lost were all disturbing things to retrieve. But the memory of seeing Dean was by far the worst. He had been here, Sam was sure about that, but he was no longer here and he hadn't helped his little brother out in any way whatsoever. No, his muddled brain was mistaken. It wasn't Dean, just a weird look-alike, and then it all came flooding back and he knew what he needed to do.

He needed to leave. The creature had said he couldn't leave - that was reason enough to try. And if he didn't try, he would probably die here and Dean would be more than pissed at him if he did that.

Sam knew that somehow he needed to endure the torture of not just getting up and standing, but also walking and probably falling down.

He shuffled backwards and levered himself up onto his left arm, relieved to lean back against the reliable sturdiness of the tree. A blanket of stifling warmth and sweat swept over him and he felt himself start to tremble uncontrollably. He couldn't shake the lethargic feeling that had been running through his veins ever since he opened his eyes. Sure, he had probably lost a fair amount of blood, he was injured… but he'd been hurt badly before and this time, something felt… wrong.

He needed to get out and now, before things got any worse.

Not knowing how long it was going to take to escape the creature's territory, Sam had decided to start rationing both the holy water and mints. He allowed himself only a mouthful of the water that he so desperately craved and a single mint. He glanced momentarily at the piece of paper full of his own handwriting. Somehow it felt important. But it was written in a language in didn't immediately recognise and the effort of trying to remember was spiking his already sore head. Sam promised himself that he would try again later when he had put some distance between himself and this place.

The thought did flicker across his mind that maybe he should check over his injuries. But as he craned his head and saw his blood-saturated shoulder, it told him all he needed to know. It had stopped bleeding and the likelihood of it restarting again if it was touched was too high to risk. He really couldn't afford to lose much more. Besides, there really wasn't much he could do about it anyway. He had no first aid supplies and there was no way in hell he could use his shirt as a bandage, he'd have to move his shoulder to do that!

The thought of even taking even a single pace worried him. There was also the little niggle in the back of his brain that told him that if he fell that was it, the escape plan was over. There was no way in his current state that he would be able to get up again and the possibility that he might not even survive another fall was now an alarming reality. But he had to do something. He wasn't about to give up. He couldn't; he needed to do this, not just for himself but for his brother.

Sam held his right arm close to his body, trying to the best of his ability to immobilise it in the hope of preventing more damage. Using his left arm, he pushed himself up onto unsteady legs and heaved up his body weight, feeling his world tilt to the right. His vision began to grey around the edges and he grabbed hold of the tree to steady himself. It was the pain of his own deep breathes pulling on the aching bruises of his ribcage that anchored him to the real world.

The terrain in front of him was vastly different from the flat clearing. He was now faced with an uneven landscape that had the dangerous complications of slippery rocks and overgrown forest plants and the fact that his vision was still screwed to hell, all added to his dread of this situation. He realised that the odds of a fall had now rocketed sky high.

He would just have to take it slow and plan every move, making sure his footing was safe and stable before moving forward. He could do that. It wouldn't be that hard. Right?

With wavering eyesight and a buzz ringing in his ears, Sam took a tentative step forward. His body was hunched over, his steps clumsy and unsteady. Each one was agony and his back felt the brunt of it. It pulsated in a steady rhythm but every so often he felt a sharp bite of pain that spider-webbed out across his entire body.

It wasn't until he reached his third tree, after what had felt like hours of precarious hobbling, that he noticed something was off.

Having been so preoccupied with his footing, he hadn't been paying much attention to the surroundings. By now he had become used to the silence of the clearing, so it took him a while to notice that all still remained deadly quiet. There were no bird songs, no gentle sounds of the trees swaying in the breeze, just his own laboured breaths that echoed ominously.

Sweat sodden dark hair obscured his vision as he lifted his head and looked straight ahead. What faced him was impossible. The overgrown vegetation peetered out slowly into a blanket of brownish green moss. Trees and angular boulders clearly marked the outlines of a clearing. He could just make out a blood-filled shallow circle in the middle and directly behind that his fire was now only smoking.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Sam muttered in disbelief. He had just left here. He had physically turned himself around and headed in the opposite direction. There was no way he could be back here. There had to be an explanation. It must be him, he must have being paying too much attention to this footing and not enough on the direction he was heading. That must it.

For the second time, he put his back to the clearing and headed into the depths of the overgrown forest.

Everything was quivering now. His body, his vision, even his hearing. The moment that he saw the forest growth begin to dwindle and be replaced with moss he felt the bile rise up his oesophagus. His vision jerked and he collapsed harshly onto his knees, jarring his shoulder and back, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. He was back at the clearing. The fire he had lit was to his left, the tree with the marking was to his right. Dead center was the shallow circle filled with his blood and standing next to it was the lonely dark figure of his brother's look-alike.

The creature stood still, eyes fixed ahead and glued on Sam. It then shifted its gaze down and focused on the shallow crater of Sam's blood, pointing its right arm and hand at it for emphasis.

"This is a lock." The Dean look-alike spoke steadily and clearly, its voice raised, making sure it was being heard. Then it lifted its head and turned its penetrating stare back at Sam.

"Your blood has turned the key. You cannot leave." With that, it turned around and walked away, disappearing under the thick boughs of the fir tree.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- A huge thank you to everybody who is still reading and alerting, it's greatly appreciated and always will be. To those of you who review, they are a joy to read and I treasure them deeply, so thank you very much. Another quick shout out to Bee, Me and Casammy, my anonymous reviewers who I couldn't thank or reply to personally, thanks for taking the time to review, it's always nice to hear from you! And Me, I know it's scary but we're a friendly bunch I promise, so you really should get yourself an account. I've only recently done it myself after years of hiding and I don't regret it for a second!

To **Harrigan**, my talented beta, who has helped me enormously with this chapter, improving it with her keen eye and invaluable ideas, as well as supporting me when I freaked out. My never ending gratitude goes out to you, thank you so much for all your time and hard work. I've tweaked and played around a bit (I just can't help myself!) so any mistakes are all mine.

**A/N** - Lets catch up with Dean and as usual, I'll warn you about his bad mouth, but it's nothing too serious! I'm very sorry about the late post but this chapter has been a huge struggle and I'll admit that I'm nervous about this one and it's also a bit shorter than normal. Anyway enough of that, here we go, I hope you all enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

The tree was old, large and had a wide sturdy trunk. One of the upper branches had been torn away from the trunk, probably in a storm, and had fallen on top of some of the smaller ones further below. This had created several very sharp and jagged stumps where these branches had also been ripped away from the tree. One of them was completely saturated in blood, from base to tip, leaving a splattered red modern art design on the trunk behind.

And just to hammer the nail down into the coffin, under the gory sight Dean could see Sam's knife and ankle strap.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Six**

Dean needed a drink. A strong one.

Recently whiskey had been the only thing that could help take the edge off. And right now he was sure that it would be the only thing that could marginally calm his frayed nerves and repel his need to throw up all over his boot clad feet.

He couldn't shake off the thought of Sam being impaled; it just kept popping back into his head like a demented jack-in-a-box. It took a sizeable chunk of his willpower to physically tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight in front of him. He had a feeling that that particular visual was going to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Scrubbing a grimy hand across his face, he pressed the heel of his palm against his right eye socket, trying to relieve the pressure. The Wendigo was gone – at least for now. But the sun had just set, and Dean knew that if it came back to hunt him in the dark, there was a good chance he would end up Wendigo-chow. Worse, his brother was still missing and apparently he was bleeding like stuck pig. Dean's chances of finding more clues with just the narrow beam of his flashlight were slim. And he needed to rest his aching body, check his thigh, get some food and water in him.

But all he could think of was Sam. Sam being alone. Sam fighting alone. Sam bleeding to death alone.

Dean flicked on the flashlight, bringing to life, in full on Technicolor, the gore and horror of the tree and its bloody stump. To Dean it felt as though he was seeing it all for the first time. The blood seemed brighter, a vivid contrast against the muted brown of the bark and there was a lot more of it too. As if burnt by the image, Dean wrenched the light's focus elsewhere, feeling the sickness swirl ominously around his stomach.

Dean distracted himself with the task of sectioning out the area surrounding the tree into small squares. He dropped the duffle onto the ground and made sure that Sam's flare gun was safely in position at the small of his back. He then limped over to the most northern square and began the slow process of sweeping over every inch of this place until he found a clue as to Sam's location.

**XoXoX**

It sucked pretty hard.

The new shallow slashes across his back pulled each time Dean leaned over, irritating his skin as they slowly dried. The added pressure on his leg wasn't doing it any favours either. The brightness of the flashlight's beam and the continual strain on his eyes were giving him one hell of a headache.

On top of all of that he was tired, unbelievably so.

He finished searching the final section and a sense of failure swept harshly through his fatigued body. All he had found was a big steaming pile of nothing. Even though he'd half-suspected that this would happen, the blow was still hard and it left him winded. He reached out his left arm in front of his body, feeling the rough bark graze across his open palm and leaned himself forward, tilting his head down as he forced oxygen into his starved lungs.

He needed daylight to complete the search successfully and there was no avoiding that fact now. But he couldn't stand here and do nothing either - he was impatient at the best of times.

He was wasting valuable time. What he needed was another plan of action.

Plan B it was then. The only problem was that Dean wasn't sure if he had a plan B. The only thing that sprang to mind was going through the mounds of research that Sam had stuffed into the duffle bag, because something was definitely wrong about this whole hunt. Dean was sure about that now. Maybe he could find some answers in the research and put an end to wherever was going on here.

Dean hauled his heavy body, step by painful step, over to the bag, then took a few steps back and let his body collapse down onto the moist ground, resting his back against the base of a tree. As his eyes slipped closed in need of rest, he felt goose pimples tingle as the cold pinched his skin. A fire would be good. But it would also draw the attention of the creature who was after his ass, so for now he would try to last it out.

The duffle was crammed full - books, printouts and pages of Sam's chicken scratch, a vast array of weaponry, and something that looked suspiciously like half a sandwich, which Dean sniffed and then proceeded to stuff down his throat.

Man, he was hungry.

Thankfully he also rooted out a bag of M & Ms, a flattened bag of chips, a couple of energy bars, and a bottle of stale-tasting water. Not bad really. He wanted nothing more than to gorge himself on the lot but he knew he had to ration it – a sobering thought.

Popping a few spheres of candy goodness into his mouth, he reached behind his back and brought out the flare gun, resting it on his lap where it could be easily reached. He'd be ready if that fugly bastard showed its face again.

Not really knowing where to start, Dean picked up the first item that was stacked in his random pile. It was a book, a big one. As Dean held the flashlight's beam over the front cover he recognised the faded colour and the curled-up corners of the pages. It was a hunter's bible, compiled by a man who'd specialized in forest lore, which listed just about every member of the supernatural community he'd studied or tracked.

Flicking through the pages and sections that Sam had highlighted, Dean took note of several things. He didn't give his brother as much credit as he deserved, things were a whole lot worse than he had anticipated, he himself was a total asshat. And he may have just killed them both.

**XoXoX**

A forest demon. A god-damn forest demon. This was bad on so many levels that it was making Dean dizzy.

What had started as a simple and fairly straightforward hunt for a Wendigo had ended up being a death-trap. Forest demons were tricky. Almost every culture had lore about supernatural creatures that dwelled in the woods. Basajuan, vedi, yeren, caipora, wodewose… but every legend was different. The creatures didn't look the same, didn't act the same, and couldn't be killed the same way.

As Dean carried on reading he noted that there were a few common traits that all the differing breeds seemed to have inherited. Forest demons were like guardians of their chosen forest, using it as their safe haven, their home. Therefore they protected it from harm, whether it be from natural or man-made forces and they were all extremely territorial and never left their own individual forest.

Things made more sense now. Although the Wendigo looked like a Wendigo it had been behaving wrong ever since he had been attacked by it earlier today. It had injured him, but not severely enough to take him prisoner, which was at the top of his weird list. The question was why and for what purpose? Was it toying with him? Trying to get him off its trail?

But at least Dean knew what he wasn't dealing with now. That Wendigo, was no Wendigo. But the list of questions and uncertainties were endless and he needed to work out exactly what he was dealing with here.

Dean had been the one who'd found the news articles on the web and read between the lines. There had been four victims over the last year, not enough to cause too much interest but enough for a hunter. Couple that with the bear-like maulings, and it didn't take much to put two and two together and come up with a Wendigo. Dean saw it for what he thought it was, a clean-cut hunt.

From the get go Sam had been reluctant about even taking the hunt. But as soon as Dean had said he'd go solo, Sam had changed his mind in a heartbeat. It hadn't taken long for his brother to get his geek on and come up with dozens of reasons why he was dubious about this hunt and what they were getting themselves into.

Fumbling carelessly through the pile of papers Dean found that Sam had also researched newspaper archives. Found not just the same fatality reports Dean had, but he'd highlighted the fact that the victims' bones were found in the hollow of a tree. Sam had also dug deeper, copying articles with interviews from a few survivors of attacks in these woods. On two different occasions, the victims had hallucinated seeing family members or rescue workers who weren't there. That, Dean thought, wasn't unusual. People panic – they see things. Witnesses are often unreliable. But Sam had thought this information was also worth highlighting with that damn yellow marker of his.

An ice cold shiver travelled hastily down the length of his spine, biting at his exposed flesh. Damn, it cold. With a muffled groan and chattering teeth, Dean realised that he'd have to light a fire, or risk freezing his ass off.

As he dug his heels into the soft muddy carpet and hauled himself to his feet, he noticed how stiff his joints and muscles were. It was a dull hurt but it spread over his entire body, pulsating quietly. But the thing that bothered him the most was the exhaustion. It was bone deep and it took all the energy he had just to get up. It dawned on him then that maybe the feeling wasn't natural.

He was well aware that he had been pushing himself hard. He was injured and stressed out about the situation but somehow it didn't sit well with him. Call it a hunter's instinct, but something told him that it was linked to the forest demon.

Light flickered through the canopy of trees overhead, misted slightly by the morning dew. It took Dean a while to notice that the sun had risen in the sky. The thought that maybe it wasn't so difficult to lose time when you were researching ran through his tired mind and he made a mental note to try and tame his Sammy-teasing on this particular issue.

Wincing at the stab in his thigh after collecting the wood, Dean fumbled his way through the duffle bag and dug out the lighter fluid, squeezing a generous amount onto the logs. He then struck a few matches and tossed them on the wood, rubbing his hands as the flames jumped to life.

Feeling the chill on his flesh ease, Dean flicked off the discarded torch and scanned through some more of the research, picking up the hunter's bible. Sam had tagged an entry about a forest demon that was related to the ancient Slavic 'vedi' - who store the bones of their prey in hollow trees. These creatures, he theorized, might be hard to track because they make use of cave and tunnel networks. Their territory could be identified by the presence of a small circle of stones in a clearing, surrounding a shallow indentation that looked like blood had soaked into the ground. The author had no idea what it meant – only that finding one meant this 'vedi' might be hunting nearby.

The hunter reported that there was a rumoured way to destroy the 'vedi'– but the next page had been torn out of the book!

A sigh escaped his cracked lips, of course that page was missing. Nothing was easy or straightforward if your name was Winchester. While trying to decipher some of Sam's chicken scratch, Dean caught a flash of the brown cover of their Dad's journal out of the corner of his weary eye.

His heart twinged every time he saw the damn thing.

Everything that was his father was in that journal. Not just notes of the supernatural entities that he had come across or details of the hundreds of hunts he had completed. But treasured photographs of a happy family of four and real diary entries that spoke of his Dad's thoughts and feelings. This journal was his Dad and it was the closest link to him that Dean possessed.

But his Dad was gone and his days of saving his sons were over. It was just him and Sam now.

Reaching over for the duffle Dean hastily shoved the journal inside and closed the bag. In frustrated anger he then threw the duffle over to his right. Out of sight and out of mind.

The thud that reverberated almost hid the sound of footsteps. Almost. But as tired as he was, Dean was alert and ready. Fingers twitching against the trigger of the flare gun, he dragged his leaden body up off the ground.

Dean's ears picked up movement, his gun held firm in his outstretched hands as his eyes flicked expertly across his surroundings. He caught sight of the sway and rustled movement of branches as the Wendigo sped past them.

In a blur of impossible speed it shot out of the forest growth moving straight past Dean, knocking the flare gun easily out of his hands and flinging it somewhere over to Dean's right. It was all over before he could even blink.

Now Dean was unarmed and out in the open.

Without much thought Dean bent down next to the fire and hastily grabbed hold of the longest burning branch that he could see. He held it out in front of his body, waving it menacingly from side to side. If fire didn't work, he had nothing.

A second later Dean was barrelled into from behind and shoved harshly onto the unforgiving ground. The flaming branch was knocked from his grasp as his back and side collided painfully with several sharp rocks that pierced into his tender flesh.

Dean screamed, as much from shock as pain. He struggled back to his feet, glancing away from the creature in the hope of finding another burning branch.

What he saw made him cry out again. "Son of a bitch!" His discarded flaming branch had ignited a small blaze of it's own. The flames crackled as they licked the base of a tree and the sparks that flew were caught effortlessly by nearby shrubbery and grasses.

The fire was spreading and fast.

"What are you waiting for? Bring it on you freaky bastard!" Dean shouted hoarsely as he span around to face the demon.

The demon was fast. Dean ducked just in time to escape the slashing claws, but the impact threw him past several blurred trees and he came to an abrupt halt as his head and back cracked painfully against wide trunk of a tree.

Blinking his vision clear, he saw the flare gun, just out of reach. Without hesitation he threw his fatigued body over to the weapon, scrabbling desperately before his fingers finally snagged the handle. The creature was almost upon him as Dean spun himself over, aimed for the heart and fired his final shot.

The high-pitched wailing wasn't surprising, nor was the blinding flash of light. As his vision began to slowly darken and grey around the edges, Dean saw the creature glare at him with surprise but not defeat. Then it moved, still faster than Dean could track. One moment it was there, the next, there was only the rustle of low, weeping evergreen branches on a nearby tree.

Dean knew that this was far from over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- To everybody who is still following the story, reviewing, alerting and even putting this fic on their favourites, it really means a lot to me, so thank you very much! I am truly flattered by the feedback I'm receiving, it's great to know that I'm on the right track and I hope to keep you all entertained.

To **Harrigan**, my fabulous beta who has waved her magic wand over this chapter and cut a lot of my waffle, making it infinitely better! Your suggestions are always spot on and I can't tell you how much I value and appreciate everything that you're doing. So thank you, thank you, thank you! Of course, I have tweaked and played around a little (but not too much), so any mistakes are all mine.

**A/N** - Lets get back to Sam and the clearing and see how he's doing (not so good, is all I'm going to say!) I don't think there's anything to warn you about here but maybe a little naughty language and maybe a little gore but only if you're incredibly squeamish. Anyway that's enough from me, I hope you all enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

"This is a lock." The Dean look-alike spoke steadily and clearly, its voice raised, making sure it was being heard. Then it lifted its head and turned its penetrating stare back at Sam.

"Your blood has turned the key. You cannot leave." With that, it turned around and walked away, disappearing under the thick boughs of the fir tree.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Seven**

He was going to die here.

Sam wasn't exactly a stranger to death; it had been lurking in the shadows ever since he was six months old. It wasn't even the dying part that bothered him. It was what he would be leaving behind that scared him, the only person on the planet that really knew him, who really cared. Dean.

If he died it would destroy his older brother. Their father's death had cemented that, set it stone because neither of them could face the darkness of this world alone.

Dean would do anything for him and vice versa. Which was exactly why he couldn't give up, because if Sam was sure of anything it was that Dean wouldn't give up on him, ever.

With newly found determination, Sam did the first thing that occurred to him; he moved. He opted again for the dragging crawl, hauling his weakened limbs across the clearing to the now only smoking fire.

All in all, things were pretty bad. He had no weapons, no clue as to what the hell was going on and oh yeah, apparently he was locked here - whatever that meant!

His body was both freezing and burning, and he was shaking so badly that he was having difficulty keeping his left arm on the ground as he used it to lever his weary body forward. He was breathing hard, or at least he was trying too. His lungs felt constricted and heavy and even though he was trying desperately to slow it down he found himself panting, in short shallow breaths.

But Sam was nothing if not stubborn. He carried on regardless, even when his ears started to shrilly ring and his vision splintered.

Sam carried on because Dean wasn't the only one who would do anything for his family.

**XoXoX**

When the hell had striking a match become so difficult? Right now Sam knew exactly why Dean favoured lighters. Matches were impossible to ignite when your hands were shaking so much that it was beginning to make you feel sea sick. He had wasted half the book by the time he managed to strike a flame, immediately hurling the match onto the grass kindling.

The fire blistered to life, spitting out crackling sparks that flew carelessly into the air. He tossed a few small, broken tree branches into the flames, finally feeling the warmth begin to relieve his chills. His mind quietened as it was gently teased away from his body, and then he was drifting. He was somewhere between the waking world and the blissful peace of unconsciousness… And then…

_Sam knew what he looking for, but it didn__'__t prepare him when he actually saw it. _

_Resting his open palm against the rough bark of the hollow tree, he leaned himself forward and dipped his head inside._

_The bones were old. Tinted yellow and flesh-free. He wasn't an expert, but Sam had seen plenty in his lifetime and he knew they were human. _

_Turning his head to the right, so that he could see the overgrown edge of the path he__'__d been following, Sam tried to locate his brother._

"_Dean?" Sam yelled as he rose to his full height. Nothing. His brother was gone. He knew he should have called out as soon as he'__d spotted the hollow tree. But at the same time, he wanted to make sure he was right before alerting his brother._

_Stumbling his way back to the path, slipping on the mud-slicked ground, Sam sped up his pace in the hope of catching up. He may be taller and have longer strides than his brother, but when Dean was pissed, he sure could move._

_Sam had messed up big time. He knew he should have taken a different angle when approaching the whole research topic. But he would fix it. Now that he knew for sure what they were dealing with, he could put his research into action and he fingered the crumpled piece of paper in his damp jacket pocket. _

_Continuing down the path, alert to danger, he readjusted the weight of the duffle onto his other shoulder. Now he knew that his suspicions were correct, he wouldn__'__t need all the just-in-case research. But at least he was prepared to face this thing. _

_As he turned the corner in the path he half expected to see Dean waiting impatiently for him to catch up. He was disappointed to notice that the overgrown path was empty of his brother. _

_It was then that he heard it, a slight rustle of branches but it was enough to catch his attention. Before Sam could turn around, something slammed into him and he was airborne, the weight of the duffle disappearing, and then_ _he felt a blunt force as the right side of his body collided powerfully with a tree._

_Gasping for air, Sam staggered up onto clumsy feet, completely clueless about what had just happened. Had something barrelled into him? He heard another tree branch rustle behind him and a split second later he was rammed brutally into another tree trunk._

"_DE…." _

"…AN!" Sam yelled his voice breathless, his call immediately pulling him out of whatever the hell that was.

He tried unsuccessfully to control his erratic breathing and to quell the pain that raced through his entire body. He sensed immediately how familiar the dream felt and like a haunting nightmare he just couldn't shake it. He remembered all of it. Every word, action and emotion and it was only now that it clicked into place and vague whispers of a previous dream lingered on the sidelines of his recognition.

"_Something else is going on in that forest. I don't think it's a Wendigo."_

It took his groggy mind a minute to process the thought that these dreams were memories, glimpses into the chunk of time he was missing. But why now, he wondered? What had happened, that finally unblocked the memory? Maybe, just maybe, he had a decent shot at getting out of here. Of finding Dean, and figuring that out, as well as everything else.

Excitement bubbled in his stomach as he realised that now he had a few answers to the questions that were swimming around his head. But even with these new**-**found memories he still didn't know where Dean was or if he was okay. The bones in the tree were familiar **-** he just couldn't pry their significance out of his baffled head, not to mention the name of the creature and how it made itself manifest as Dean.

But it was something. A step forward in the right direction.

Then like a bolt of lightning it hit him. The paper in his pocket – he might be able to make sense of that now that his memories were returning!

Rummaging through his pockets, Sam was frustrated at how long it took before he found it.

The edges were raggedy and it was creased and crumbled. It was damp to touch and Sam handled it with care, unfolding it with quivering fingers.

Some of the ink had smudged but he recognized the lines of his own handwriting and at the bottom of the page there was a crude drawing of a symbol and … holy crap things were getting interesting.

Clutching the papers in his hand, he pushed himself to his feet and took a few stumbling steps. His back screamed in agony, but he wouldn't allow himself to be beaten down by the pain and he used it to fuel him onward.

He passed the heavy fir tree where he thought the creature had emerged, and couldn't restrain a shudder at the memory. But that tree wasn't his target now.

When he reached his destination he pulled himself up with a breathless gasp of pain and clung tightly around the trunk of the familiar pine tree. The shaking was bad now as he ghosted his fingers over the symbol that was etched deeply into the bark, comparing it to the one drawn in ink by his own hand.

They were identical.

He knew he was on the right track. The problem was that he didn't know where it lead.

The symbol was a large circle, which held a mixture of yet more circles all varying in sizes, with a seven pointed star in the centre. Apparently whatever this creature was**,** it had a thing for circles. The symbol, the circular clearing and Sam couldn't forget the shallow one full of his blood. It was all linked somehow**,** but Sam felt like his thoughts were as thick and murky as molasses. Pieces of his memory were coming back, but he couldn't process what he saw against his memories. Why not?

Sam's mind clouded and the words in front of his eyes made no sense to his foggy brain. This was followed by a strange physical sensation of weakness and it was much stronger now than ever before. It was at this point that he felt his skin prickle and he knew that he was no longer alone.

The Dean look-alike stood slightly hunched over, as if tired or injured. It didn't look quite as convincingly like Dean as it had the last time. Sam's vision swam, like he was looking at something under water, or in the desert, forms wavering in the heat. Like a mirage.

"The other grows desperate, and rightly so. Your time grows short." The creature's voice was rough, taunting him.

A chill raced down Sam's spine, his muscles cramping. "Where is my brother?"

"Trying but failing to find you. But do not worry. He is near. I will not let him leave the forest."

Sam shivered, a sudden rush of fear for his brother. As he did, the creature… smirked, an expression wholly Dean, the apparition solidifying as the creature seemed to feed off his fears.

"What have you done to him? Have you hurt him?" It seemed to Sam that perhaps the creature was hurt – it stood awkwardly, an arm close to its ribs, covering his chest protectively. There was a faint scent of singed flesh surrounding the creature, although it still looked like Dean. Maybe the creature had gotten hurt in a confrontation with Dean? But if so, why hadn't his brother come for him? Had he been wounded, too?

The more anxious Sam felt, the more the creature straightened, seemed steadier on its feet.

It didn't answer his questions. The Dean look-alike turned away from him, toward the centre of the clearing, and raised its arm toward the small pool of his blood.

The smell of blood rose thick in the air as the liquid in it churned, and then Sam knew no more.

**XoXoX**

When Sam clawed his way back into consciousness, it took a while for the world around him to right itself as it spun continually on a tilted axis.

And for the first time in a long time, he wished his Dad was here. Not just to save them both but so he could tell Sam that everything was going to be okay, that Dean was going to be okay.

He remembered trying to prove his worth to Dad, to Dean. His intellect convinced them of his place on the hunt long before his physical skills caught up. He needed to draw on that intellect now, despite the pervasive disorientation.

What did the creature want? How did it come and go? Where was it vulnerable? (And were the answers already in his mind somewhere, but he couldn't remember?)

His Dad would've had the answers. He always did. Thinking of his Dad, a veteran of Vietnam, made him think of the tunnels the Viet Cong were famous for. Could it be that the creature moved through a series of tunnels, and that's why there was never any sign of it moving through the woods? How it managed to appear and disappear so easily?

Maybe if he could find the entrance, create some sort of booby trap…

Sam set one hand on the ground, preparing to make himself move, to explore the area around the fir tree, when he realised he was still clutching a piece of paper in his clammy palm.

Glancing down the page, he stared at the foreign words, with wavering vision. He knew he knew them, just like he knew that all of this seemed familiar somehow. The symbol on the tree, the clearing, the creature and the circular crater that contained his blood.

His blood. In the middle of a clearing.

Something tugged his memory**. **Sam dragged his fatigued body over to the centre point of the clearing, his shoulder burning as he felt fresh blood warm the material of his jacket and shirt.

The fist-sized pool of his blood was surrounded by small stones and somehow, he felt that had to be significant. If he couldn't rely on his head, he could rely on his gut. Like Dean would do, if he were here. Sam summoned all of his dwindling energy and kicked hard, watching as the stones scattered and flew in several different directions.

The very ground seemed to shake under his body.

Then like a thick veil had been removed, the fog in his mind lifted and things began to click into place. A hunt he researched, disagreeing with Dean, the bones in the tree, victims claiming to hallucinate and see loved ones, the network of tunnels marked with a nearby symbol.

A forest demon. That's what this creature was. A Vedi.

Raising a shaky arm Sam looked at the piece of paper, the once unrecognisable foreign language was Serbian. It was ritual, a banishing spell, a rare and powerful one which would rid the forest of the Vedi's presence.

Sam only had a moment to bask in the knowledge that he could now defeat the demon before the Vedi, still wearing his brother's face, burst through the full branches of the fir tree. It stared coldly at him before taking a step towards Sam's prone body, eyeing the disturbed stones around the bloody crater.

Sam hefted his body weight up and with a pain**-**filled grimace, he shuffled backwards, crab-crawling away from the Vedi, his heart hammering.

He was struck suddenly with a feeling of a heavy loss and abrupt weakness as his energy was greedily leached away from his body. He stared at the Vedi as it smirked with Dean's face, taunting him cruelly. Sam felt his fear rise; he would die with the image of his brother burned into his eyes. Then the clearing dimmed as his vision blinked out of focus and a cold shiver ran down his spine, before his arms numbed and he collapsed to the ground.

It was feeding off him, off his energy, his life force. Using his own anxiety and fear to speed up the process.

Stands of dirt encrusted hair bobbed up and down, as he struggled to hold up his head and look at the banishing spell, he was still clutching tightly. The world around him then became weightless as the creature continued to feed greedily.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear a tinny rasp of someone speaking, the words were garbled and fast, leaving no room for breaths. It took him a moment to realise that he could feel his own lips move and to realise that it was him who was reading out loud the Serbian, the paper shaking in his hand.

"Stop. You will stop!" Sam heard the Vedi command. He could swear that there was a dash of fear in there somewhere and that spurred him.

He wouldn't stop now, not for anything.

"You will die before you finish," it boomed, and with that warning Sam felt his energy level hit rock bottom. His body was shaking hard now, bordering on a seizure and it was making the ritual impossible to read.

"You cannot kill me; I am this forest just as much as it is me. We have existed together since time began. You were a fool to think that we could be destroyed. Others like you have tried, they have always failed."

And in that second before defeat an idea formed, a piss poor one, but it was better than the alternative, his death.

"Why wear Dean's face?" Sam croaked, his words slurred, as he tried in utter desperation to distract the demon which still wore Dean's appearance. He just needed some time to compose himself, to regain a little strength.

"Because it pains you. It is a reminder of what you have lost, of what you once had. He is lost to you, even I can sense that," it sneered.

Of all the things he was expecting to hear, that was not one of them. The truth of it almost tore him apart. Dean was lost to him. They were separated, not just in distance but in grief.

"Where is he?" Sam tried to demand breathlessly as he felt a sharp tug in his lungs, "Where's my brother?"

"I had high hopes for him. So full of pain and angst. I had planned to feed off him for days, once I was finished with you. But it wasn't to be."

"Where is he?" Sam uttered in a hushed whisper, only half listening now, as he fumbled urgently through his pockets. He thanked God when his hand finally clumsily collided with the coolness of glass. With rapidly waning strength, he leaned towards the fire and removed a flaming branch, hurling it at the symbol-encrusted tree. Then he pulled out the miniature bottles of whiskey, and threw them at the flames now gnawing on the tree bark.

"Dead! He is dead!" It smirked, just as the glass shattered against the tree. The alcohol ignited the mild flames into a ball of fierce fire as the bark on the tree, along with the symbol, were devoured and burnt to a crisp.

Sam barely heard the words escape the forest demons mouth as it screamed in rage. The shriek continued, echoing around the clearing as the fire spread to the nearby fir tree. Sam continued reading the banishing spell, stuttering and stammering his way through the words that were cruelly reeling on the page, while using his injured right arm and hand to unscrew the lid from the flask. He tossed the holy water onto of the demon, watching with morbid fascination as its form seemed to sizzle and burn.

Sam could feel the demon weaken; it was in the air, the trees, the forest, everywhere.

The borrowed image of Dean then began to disappear and fade into a thick inky cloud, the outline of which remained human in shape only. Sam hacked out a biting cough, struggling to haul in a full and clean breath to finish the ritual, as the smoke from the fire hung heavily in the air of the clearing.

He was almost there, had almost finished when he felt the forest demon's backlash, as it tried desperately to claw back its own victory. Sam was plunged into darkness, feeling the familiar pull of unconsciousness as the last ounce of energy he possessed was ripped away from his limp body.

He fought against the onslaught, searching frantically through the vestiges of his mind for the final words of the spell.

Echoes of voices and memories tickled the edges of his mind and with a flash and burn, the final words of the banishing spell exploded into his memory. His eyes wouldn't open, his lips were numb but he forced out the Serbian words regardless.

"Ni na nebu, ni na zemlji, No na grani od oblaka." It was a grating whisper, but Sam hoped beyond hope that this would work. It was his last chance, all he had left.

As his trembling lips stumbled over the final syllable, there was a tremendous boom as the earth trembled under his body. A tremor shook the entire clearing as the network of underground tunnels collapsed, felling trees and the angular boulders. Like a combine harvester it upturned the earth in its wake, completely destroying the perfect circular clearing and the shallow pit that contained Sam's blood.

Gaping pits opened in the earth, tunnels collapsing, and Sam felt himself sliding down an avalanche of earth rushing to fill the hollows underground. He was viciously dragged over rocks and broken branches, scrabbling desperately to stop his downward slide.

The sound that emanated from the demon was beyond this world, so loud that Sam's ear drums threatened to pop under the strain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the blackness of the forest demon weaken even further into a bleak thin dust. Then it crackled and exploded into thousands of tiny particles that twinkled brightly before erupting into sparks of fire that were snuffed out long before they landed.

The world was once again silent and still but now painted in flames.

A beat later and Sam's vision began to grey and fray around the edges. He couldn't move, not that he wanted to. He was thankful that his body was numb, he felt no pain. He couldn't feel anything, not even as blackness burst in front of his eyes.

It was all over, he had succeeded. He was finally ready to rest now, to give in. This world held no importance to him now, not without his family, without Dean.

TBC

**A/N -** How exciting I've never done an authors note down here before, I'm easily pleased huh!! Anyway just a quick translation, "Ni na nebu, ni na zemlji, No na grani od oblaka," literally means - "not above, not below, but in the between." Thanks for your help Harrigan!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You**- I'm overwhelmed with the response to this fic and I'd like to thank everybody for sticking with it and for taking the time to review and alert! It's great to know that you are enjoying reading just as much as I am writing and I really hope that I can keep you all entertained!

To **Harrigan**, beta extraordinaire, who has spent countless hours helping me with this story. If it wasn't for your sharp mind this story wouldn't be half as good as it is! Thank you so much for all your hard work and effort, it's hugely appreciated and I owe you big time!

**A/N**- Lets catch up with Dean, and as usual I'm going to warn you about the language, it's not too bad but I wouldn't want to offend anybody! There's also a bit of general ikyness here, but nothing too serious. Here we go, I hope you all enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

Blinking his vision clear, he saw the flare gun, just out of reach. Without hesitation he threw his fatigued body over to the weapon, scrabbling desperately before his fingers finally snagged the handle. The creature was almost upon him as Dean spun himself over, aimed for the heart and fired his final shot.

The high-pitched wailing wasn't surprising, nor was the blinding flash of light. As his vision began to slowly darken and grey around the edges, Dean saw the creature glare at him with surprise but not defeat. Then it moved, still faster than Dean could track. One moment it was there, the next, there was only the rustle of low, weeping evergreen branches on a nearby tree.

Dean knew that this was far from over.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Eight**

Dean was aware of nothing.

He had absolutely no clue that slinky tendrils of smoke were skulking around his crumpled body, teasing his hair and skin. Numerous small but ambitious fires were chewing their way through the surrounding bushes and forest growth, casting an eerie yellow tinted glow onto his pale flesh. He had no idea that a sluggish stream of blood was meandering down the left side of face or that the bruises on his back were blackening swiftly.

It began as a twitch. First his fingers and then his arm and that was followed a second later by a minute groan. His eyelids bunched up and his brow creased in pain before another indistinguishable noise escaped his dry mouth. With noticeable caution against the sun's brilliant rays, Dean's eyes fluttered open half way.

It crossed his mind that maybe he should just surrender to his own need to rest. The problem was that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't physically do it; something was stopping him.

He didn't have much time to process the thought before his aching lungs warned him about the smoke. A harsh cough rattled its way through his body, jiggling his oversensitive limbs, forcing him to shift rather painfully into a more comfortable position.

With his back now up against the tree, half sitting up, half slouching down, Dean had his first good look at the forest. At first the small fires, smoke, and the acrid smell of burning pine and sap mystified him; his gooey brain struggling to remember the details of the last day or so. But as the dust cleared, the fires and his pain began to make total sense.

He had bulls-eyed that son-of-a-bitch forest demon. The shot had been a beauty, definitely one for the records. However, the delight Dean felt running through his veins over his kick-ass shot was short-lived as he remembered the look on the creature's face when the shot had hit. Yes, there had been an initial look of surprise and maybe a speck of fear, but it had replaced with a cockiness that screamed 'You can't kill me; this is far from over'.

Dean wanted to waste it so damn much it made his teeth ache.

Smoke hung heavily in the air, stinging Dean's eyes to tears. The crackle of flames was growing unmistakably louder.

Dean got the message loud and clear; he had to get out of here and fast. He had work to do; a fire to escape, and a brother to find.

Reaching for the duffle, a sound suddenly pierced his ears, near deafening in pitch and definitely not human.

It took him a few heartbeats to realise that it sounded a helluva lot like the screech that the forest demon had made when he had shot it with the flare gun.

Dean didn't get the chance to fully absorb the fact that he may just have the first solid clue to the creature's location and maybe even his brother's, before all hell broke loose.

The boom was loud, coming from the northwest, somewhere near the screeching wail. Dean could feel the vibrations echo inside his body even before the ground began to shake.

As he struggled to stay upright Dean watched in awestruck terror as the quake carved deep gashes into the earth, like tunnels collapsing. Trees were ripped out by their roots, adding fuel to the path of the spreading fire.

All the while the unearthly scream continued to tear its way through the forest.

An ominous creak sounded in Dean's ear and he flung his injured body away from the newest gaping pit, grunting loudly as he landed face first in the dirt, covering the back of his head with his arms.

It stopped just as abruptly as it began. It was only when he heard his ears ringing that he realized that the horrible shrieking had also come to an end.

The silence was eerie. It covered the forest like a thick woollen blanket. It took him a moment to remove his arms from over his head, fearing that the tremor might not really be over, but slowly he managed to painfully push himself up onto his knees.

Something was different. Dean could feel it in his own body. Although he knew he was more than a little worse for wear, he felt marginally better, like his batteries had been recharged. A sense of calm and energy ran through not only his body, but the whole forest.

It didn't take a genius to work out that he had just witnessed the aftershock of the death of the forest demon. He'd heard the death screech, felt the quake and he knew that forest demons were linked to their chosen forest. So yeah. It kind of made sense that the forest would be destroyed along with the demon.

But what did bother him was the how.

Nothing shrieked a death screech like that and caused a goddamn quake for no reason. Someone killed it and the only other person that he knew could do that - was Sam. He wanted to believe it, to know that Sam was fit enough to off the damn thing, that he had the knowledge and tools to do it, and that he had survived the fallout of the forest demon's death. But Dean couldn't allow himself to fully accept it as a hard fact, not until he saw his little brother in one piece with his own two eyes.

And that's all it really took, just a thought. Before Dean even knew he was doing it, he was stumbling through the debris on his way to find his brother.

**XoXoX**

Setting off wasn't a problem. But having walked and climbed for nearly a mile, keeping going for a god knows how many more was proving to be a bigger problem than Dean had anticipated.

He had travelled pretty much in a straight line heading northwest following the direction of the forest demon's death scream. He was pretty sure he was running purely on an adrenaline rush that sprouted from the mental image of his brother drowning in a pool of his own blood, all alone in this pit of a forest.

He hated this. If something happened to Sam because of him, because of his own need to push everybody away so that he could run away from his Dad's death, then he didn't know what he would do. He really didn't. And that scared the crap out him, more than any demon or spirit could ever do.

But something had already happened to Sam. He couldn't get the broken tree branch, angled like a spear and soaked with Sam's blood, out of his mind. Sam had somehow nailed the sucker and then had to endure a quake and all Dean could do was suffocate on his own fear and guilt. What if he's too late and Sam was gone? Betrayed, ignored and abandoned. Left to die alone in a torrent of violence and blood.

Dean could survive most things, but not that.

It was then that he realised that he'd gradually slowed to a stop. He could feel the sharp creak of rib bones across his back, his head pounding along with his heartbeat. He glanced down and saw that his clawed thigh was bleeding heavily. The blood had soaked through the fabric of his jeans and was now running rivers down his leg, pooling around his ankle and over his boot. Without warning he felt his legs buckle, as he landed harshly onto his unprotected knees.

He wanted to give up, to call it quits. That's what his body was telling him to do. But he needed to be with his brother. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Even if he was too late to rush in and be the saviour he had been countless times before, he would find Sam. And that was that, end of subject.

**XoXoX**

Dean knew he was moving, but that was about all he did know.

Most of it was a blur of shapes, indefinable colours and sounds that held no meaning. He was running on empty, not really sure where he was heading except that he needed to keep on going. Even the thought of finding Sam was becoming more difficult to cling to as it faded and slipped through his numb fingers. But he kept reclaiming it, clinging tighter each time, as if it was the most important thing in the world. Perhaps it was.

He had no idea how far he needed to go or how far he had even come. It had to be miles, it sure felt like miles. He stopped still, shifted the weight of the duffle and tried to adjust his vision and his awareness. He shook his head in the hope of sweeping away the cobwebs but it hurt more than anything else.

The forest was now beginning to taper off into a gentle downward incline. It wasn't steep enough to be able to view as much of the overall forest as he hoped but it enough to be at least useful. It was hard to see much of anything except chaos and felled trees. But he could see the thick clouds of smoke about a half a mile away.

_Sam._

He couldn't explain it really. But Sam and girly freaky ways must definitely be rubbing off on him because he knew that Sam was there, in amongst the smoke and fire. Call it brotherly intuition, or maybe common sense, but a gut feeling was something he never ignored.

Dean sprinted through the forest, climbing over fallen trees and what he could only assume was the Vedi's collapsed network of tunnels. He barely noticed the stabs of pain in thigh or his own light-headedness.

The flames were stronger now, fiercely licking their way through the trees. The smoke grew denser the nearer he got and all he could think of was Sam, and how he could survive this?

Dean shielded his face with his arms against the sparks that were shooting right at him. Dodging and weaving around the flames was becoming a struggle on his bad leg, and his world was dimming to a greyish hue around the edges.

But that didn't stop him from seeing what lay ahead. He blinked and then blinked again, hoping that somehow he was imagining it all.

It looked like a bomb site.

All the trees had been felled, some savagely skinned of their bark. Several large angular boulders lay on their sides and a few had even broken into pitiful piles of rubble. The fires were raging everywhere, hellfire hot.

But it was the smoke that Dean struggled with most. It was thick, black and forced him to his knees in mercy as he hacked out barking coughs that pummelled his chest and cracked rib cage.

Out of all the things that he could possibly identify as belonging to his brother, it was his shoes that gave him away; a busted up pair of sneakers. As soon as Dean's war-weary brain processed the thought, he was moving, crawling desperately on hands and knees over the sharp terrain, not caring or even feeling the pain as new wounds were ravaged open.

"SAM!" Dean yelled. He coughed and spluttered, his vision dimmed and he realized he couldn't breathe.

Sam didn't move.

Dean scurried on regardless, palms and kneecaps bloodied and raw.

The body lying by his side was unrecognisable. Even Dean second-guessed himself; this couldn't be his brother.

The problem was, it was.

Sam's entire body was blackened from head to toe, smudged with soot and soil. He was lying on his back, arms and legs were folded in uncomfortable angles, his head turned to one side, facing away from Dean. It was on the second glance that Dean noticed that some of the black that covered Sam's body was in fact glistening in the light of the flames. He could make out the dark red stains which had soaked through the fabric of the countless layers that his little brother always seemed to wear.

Dean didn't want to touch him. He didn't want to know for a fact what he feared was true, because as much as he stared, Dean couldn't see Sam's chest rise. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, and for a split second he thought he actually might throw up.

His chest felt tight and hollow and his eyes were stinging, filled with tears that he refused to cry.

With a shaking hand, he reached out his arm and gently moved Sam's head to face him, gasping at the sight that greeted him.

There was more blood, a lot. It was caked thickly in Sam's hair and ran down the whole length of Sam's face, trailing down his neck where the collar of his shirt had either halted its track or simply covered it over. Dean knew if there was a visibly clean patch of skin, it would have been deathly pale. The right eye was heavily bruised and swollen.

"Sam?"

"Sammy?"

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Dean reached out and placed two numb fingers on Sam's neck in search of a pulse that he prayed was there. He had never felt so unbelievably useless and fear-stricken. Never, not even after Dad.

There was no pulse.

Dean could physically feel himself break down, collapsing from the inside first. His heart froze and his stomach dropped and then his whole world shattered.

"No. No. No. No. No. God, no."

He pressed down harder and shifted the position of his fingers slightly.

"Don't do this to me, Sam. Don't you dare!" he choked out, feeling his throat tighten around the words.

This couldn't be real. It was because he was so screwed up from the fight with forest demon, right? His injuries and the quake. Not to mention his hike through the forest which he couldn't really remember doing. So no, this can't be real.

When he felt the tiny thumping under the pads of his fingers, Dean was afraid he'd put it there by simply wishing it was true.

But it carried on. Even when Dean switched hands and used different pulse points. It still carried on beating, albeit a little thready.

Dean's worry was interrupted when he heard a distant rumble echo around the clearing. Instinctively he whipped his head around to follow the sound, the drumming in his skull reaching an agonizing crescendo. He couldn't see much due to the smoke, and then, with a deafening crack, it got even darker as a huge evergreen toppled toward them. Without a second thought, Dean wrapped his body around his brother and rolled the both of them over to the right, only stopping when his back and the duffle collided with a large boulder.

The tree slammed into the ground with an earth-shuddering impact just a few feet away.

Gasping with pain, Dean lifted his head to see that the fire had leaped hungrily to the dry pine needles and was building into a real inferno. They would be trapped between the heavy tree and the boulder if he didn't move now!

Dean hauled Sam's dead weight up, hooking his arms under his brother's armpits, and dragged them both clear, flames licking at his feet.

**XoXoX**

As it turned out, they didn't make it very far before Dean collapsed.

Now that they were safe, at least for a few minutes, he had time to feel the damage that their escape had caused. His back was killing him. The once definitely cracked and maybe broken ribs on his back were now clearly broken. He knew his left thigh was bad due the way the world was tilting and swaying. His head wasn't good either - or maybe that was the blood loss; who knew?

It struck him then that if he was in so much additional pain, what the friggin hell had his rescue manoeuvre done to his brother?

He swore that the movement caused a small groan of pain to throttle in the back of his Sam's throat, but he couldn't tell for sure; it might just have been another wish-induced fantasy.

Dean placed a calloused and bloody hand on the side of Sam's face, noting immediately the cool and clammy feel of his skin underneath his own. Sam's pulse was still too thready. They needed to get the hell out of dodge before the whole damn forest went up in flames. Dean knew that he was in no state to carry Sam out of here, and if he were honest, he wasn't entirely sure if he could even carry himself out.

"Sam, you in there?" he croaked, wincing at how even his words were shaking with fear because Sam needed to wake up. He needed to be okay.

"Sam, you gotta wake up, man!? Nap time's over." Dean's light tone hid his rising fear. "Sam come on, I know you're in there somewhere."

A faint but clear flicker of discomfort passed over the battered features of Sam's face.

"SAM." Strong and authoritative, his Dad's tone if ever he heard it. This time there was nothing. No movement and no sound and Dean should have guessed that wouldn't work. It never had, at least not for Sam anyway.

Dean could feel the heat from the fire rise against his back, and knew without looking that the blaze was growing stronger and nearer. The smoke was returning too, and he could feel it burn the hairs in his nostrils.

"Come on, Sam!" That plea carried a definite jagged edge of fear. He rarely let himself do that, but times were desperate. He coupled it with a gentle but firm shake, his fingers now gripping both of Sam's arms, trying to ignore the dampness of the blood-soaked clothing.

"Please," he uttered in a hushed whisper that was all Dean, laid out for the world to see. Pure and raw with emotion. He had last used that at the cabin, when he had pleaded for Sam not to shoot their father dead. It had worked then; he prayed it would work now.

Dean felt a shiver rack through Sam's body and then his face contorted with pain.

"That's it, open your eyes. I need you to look at me," Dean encouraged, trying not to allow a smile to form across his face, not yet.

Sam's dark eyelashes fluttered lightly against his cheeks for a second before they closed again.

"No, Sam, you need to look at me." Dean watched with bated breath as a pair of unfocused eyes stared back at him with confusion.

"D'n?" Sam mumbled breathlessly, and wasn't that just about the best god-damn thing he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, I'm here." Dean said soothingly, hoping to instill some calm into his brother's bewildered eyes.

"No. You're…not him," Sam stuttered as he tripped over the words. His eyes glazed over, hazy with confusion and uncertainty. Dean grew even more worried. It was clear that Sam wasn't coherent or aware of the danger that surrounded them. Sam might not be capable of movement, let alone leaving the forest.

"Really…you?" Sam gasped, freaking Dean out even more.

"Yeah, Sam, it's really me. I'm here."

Sam sagged in relief and Dean couldn't help but wonder what that was all about?

He tore his eyes away from Sam momentarily, did a quick scan of their surroundings, and turned back around to face his brother. It was now or never. He placed both his bloody palms on either side of his brother's face, forcing Sam's eyes and attention onto him.

"Sam, you need to listen to me. Do you think you can walk?" Dean said clearly, raising his voice over the roar of the flames. He watched his brother closely as the words were absorbed, but he didn't get an answer. He shook Sam lightly. "Sam, can you help me get us both out of here?"

"Mmmm hhuuhh," Sam half-moaned, and Dean knew that that was the best answer he was going to get out of Sam in his current condition.

Dean hooked his arms around his brother, gently sat him up, and Sam screamed. He had never heard his brother in so much pain before and that was saying something. Stubbornness was a Winchester family trait and it was twice as bad when it came to hiding pain. Dean didn't want to imagine what his brother was enduring to make him cry out like that.

"Come on, I've got you," Dean murmured as he struggled to bring the both of them up onto two pairs of unsteady feet. The smoke was a helluva lot worse now that he was standing upright. Dean adjusted his footing, feeling the burning pull on his thigh and biting back a yelp of his own as he rearranged the duffle on his shoulder. All of sudden he felt a tug as Sam listed to the side.

"Oh no you don't. We've just started, okay, now's not the time for fainting, you big pansy," Dean teased, coughing his way through the sentence, not really knowing for sure whether or not he was being heard.

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's waist, grasping the top of his jeans, realising that he was going to have to support the vast majority of Sam's weight. He was already struggling, desperately trying to contain his own pain as his back screeched in agony at the awkward position and the weight of his brother by his side. Sweat soaked into his clothes like a sponge, and his lungs couldn't seem to draw in enough oxygen through the dense smoke.

Reality hit and it hit hard.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't support Sam's weight as well as his own, not all the way out of here. They weren't going to make it.

**XoXoX**

He could tell through the haze that he was moving forward, watching as the forest slid past open-yet-blinded eyes. He didn't know which direction he was going, but he had to get out and as far as he was concerned that was all he needed to know.

Sam was there, that much he was certain of. He could feel his brother's body shaking next to his own and his weight was getting heavier with every step they took. He could tell they were moving slowly but he wasn't too sure of anything else, apart from the swaying and the ringing in his ears.

He knew that he and Sam needed to get out of here, that Sam was hurt and so was he and that it was getting harder to breathe. He remembered the fires and the choking smoke, mostly because the memory of getting out of the clearing had branded itself onto his brain. There had been too many things to climb and avoid and they'd fallen a lot. Dean blamed himself for that.

He remembered that Sam had been trying to carry his own weight then. Making a noticeable effort to keep his feet moving as he stumbled over the many obstacles in their way. On a few occasions Sam had even leaned away from his support as he tried to go it alone. But maybe that was just Dean's imagination, another wish-induced fantasy.

He had long since stopped teasing and talking to Sam, hoping to keep him alert, awake and moving. He hadn't had much of a response, not even then.

Now, well, now Dean wasn't sure if Sam was even conscious. His pain-filled whimpers had all but stopped, his hot breath wheezing in Dean's ear. He guessed that he was now holding all of his little brother's weight and doing most of the onward movement by himself, with hardly any input at all from Sam.

Dean couldn't feel much of anything. The pain in his left thigh had skyrocketed a while ago and now there was nothing, just numbness. He knew he should be in a whole world of pain, but things just felt disconnected. His legs and head were on two separate bodies that didn't belong to him while he floated along on fluffy clouds.

He could feel things slow down even further, like he was stuck in slow motion as he walked through a sea of treacle. As heavy as Sam was, he was getting heavier by the second and Dean knew they were sinking ever closer to the open arms of the ground.

Dean staggered to the top of a ridge and fumbled in his pocket with the hand not gripping his brother, his fist closing around the familiar weight of his cell phone. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew it was a long shot. But the Vedi demon was toast, and a lot had changed within the forest so maybe, just maybe, he would catch a lucky break.

They needed help.

Just as the phone found a signal, the ringing cutting in and out, Sam suddenly got too heavy and crumpled, dragging them both bonelessly to the ground.

Dean landed hard, jarring his back and broken ribs. The agony temporarily blinded him, but he clung to consciousness, more grit than sense, to choke out a whisper into the phone before the darkness consumed him.

"Bobby?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer **- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- Just a quick shout out to everybody who is reading, reviewing, altering and marking this fic as a favourite! I'm truly flattered and I really appreciate all the support and kind words, so thank you very much.

To **Harrigan**, my wonderful beta who has been so generous in offering her time and help - I can't thank you enough! You're doing an awesome job and your feedback and suggestions are valued dearly. But you know me, I'm an obsessive tweaker, so any mistakes are mine.

**A/N** - I'm not a Doctor - no where near in fact! I've done some research on the net and have watched ER for many years, but I'm no expert! So please accept my apologies for any medical errors; this is as accurate as my little anti-science brain can make it. Maybe a little language and grossness warning but that's it. Here we go, I really hope you enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

Just as the phone found a signal, the ringing cutting in and out, Sam suddenly got too heavy and crumpled, dragging them both bonelessly to the ground.

Dean landed hard, jarring his back and broken ribs. The agony made his vision grey out, but he clung to consciousness, more grit than sense, to choke out a whisper into the phone before darkness consumed him.

"Bobby?"

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Nine**

Sam was freaking out.

It was tough enough considering only a second ago all he knew was a blank void, pitch black and silent as a grave. But going from that to feeling someone touching your face was more than a little unnerving.

The fear only got worse when he realised that he didn't recognise the soft hands that were pushing something onto the side of his face.

Then sound came back. It took a moment to decipher that it was words being spoken, hurtling towards him at full speed. Sam's bewildered brain struggled to make any sense of them as they collided into each other making one unintelligible noise.

He had no idea where he was or what was going on.

To make matters worse his eyes weren't opening.

Sam's first response was to move, to get the hell away from the noise and the hands. But with only a twitch of his muscles the pain was unbelievable, totally without pause or pity. Panic crept in, and in his confusion he pushed himself harder, feeling his body lift slightly only to be held firmly down.

"…don't move," Sam heard. It took a while for him to realise that he'd missed half the sentence trying to work out whether the voice was male or female. Not that it really mattered. It wasn't Dean.

He knew he'd heard his brother earlier. He wasn't sure what he had been asking or saying but it had been Dean, his Dean; that much he was sure of. Everything else was missing, a total blank. All he could vaguely recall was something that involved movement, Dean, and pain. And that didn't set his mind at ease.

Then the hands were back, and there were more of them this time. He completely lost his train of thought as they began pushing and prodding various parts of his body. Someone was screaming. Sam was pretty sure it was him, but the pain was overwhelming and he didn't care about anything except escaping back into the black void where nothing hurt.

"…open your eyes?" The voice was back, hovering somewhere above him. But it still wasn't Dean so he let himself ignore it. Besides, he couldn't open his eyes. He had already tried and failed that simple task.

"…hear me?" The voice said, and now Sam was getting annoyed at it. All he wanted was to be left alone in peace and quiet where he could just sleep, because right now he was beyond tired.

Then someone touched something that hurt more than anything else. His whole body ignited in an explosion of new pain. He felt his heart pounding inside his aching chest as he struggled to breathe through the agony.

He was frustrated and fed up with these people. He didn't even know who they were and yet they were touching him and barking orders. With a strength that he didn't know he possessed, Sam pushed the hands and everything else away, trying frantically to rid himself of their invading presence.

"…becoming combative."

Sam really was starting to hate that voice.

He realised all too quickly that his previous action had been a mistake. He felt his arms being firmly restrained and heard forceful words being spoken, but at him? Sam couldn't really be sure, and right now it felt like he never would. Then he felt a sharp prick in his arm and everything became painless and thick with uncertainty.

"…helicopters ready," Sam heard from someone further away. All he could think was that Dean wouldn't be too happy about that, not given his track record with planes anyway. But that just confused him further because he had thought that Dean had been here. But Sam couldn't hear him now, so where was he?

"D'n?" Sam tried to say, knowing exactly what it was meant to sound like, but having the sneaking suspicion that it hadn't come out that way.

"D'n?" This time he managed to hear the slur in his own words - he didn't sound so good.

"…you hear me?…know what happened?" A different voice called to him, but still not Dean's. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't focus on all the words that were said.

"De'n?" He tried to sound more forceful, which was difficult when a set of hands was placing something over his nose and mouth. It made it easier for him to catch his breath and he found himself wondering when that breathlessness and the sharp pain in the chest had started.

"…here…injured…taking both…hospital…relax," and still Sam wasn't sure what that meant. Especially when the words kept fading in and out, like static on the radio in the middle of nowhere.

"…ooookkaayyyy?"

But he couldn't reply, not with this contraption strapped around his face that made his nose sting.

Things started to tunnel out and disappear.

Before he knew it, Sam was only aware of a few small things. Even though the pain was thinning he was sure that the hands were still there, pushing and holding. He was sure that the voice was still talking and asking him questions. He could hear the sound of engines and propellers as they sliced through the air surrounding him.

The problem was a moment later he was aware of nothing.

**XoXoX**

_"BP's bottoming out, heart rate's falling too. He's not responding to verbal commands or physical stimuli."_

Cold. He was cold and not just you-need-an-extra-layer-of-clothing cold, but a true and bone-deep cold. He couldn't move, couldn't even feel his body.

_"Pupils are uneven and unresponsive to light. He's got a concussion, probably a bad one looking at that head wound. We need a CT scan, probably an MRI too, I need to rule out the possibility of a skull fracture or a hemorrhage."_

He didn't hurt anymore and that was good. Or was it? Because although there was now no pain there was also no feeling. No sense of anything solid that could ground him or keep him secured to the world. He was drifting…

_"Deep bruising on the upper and lower right quadrants. The abdomen's rock hard and distended; we're looking at a bleeder somewhere in there. Dammit, this kid can't afford to lose even more blood. Where the hell is my type specific?"_

Sam fought to stay anchored. He knew his eyes were closed because he couldn't see what was happening around him. Yet somehow it was also ridiculously bright, even through the closed shutters his eyelids provided. He thought he'd grunted at the blinding glare but he could be wrong about that.

_"Page surgery, we need a consult down here now and I want that portable x-ray. I don't care if you have to beg, plead or steal it, but get it in here."_

As he struggled to crack open his eyes, he realised that the brightness was marred by moving shadows, shadows that resembled people. He was glad about that because for some reason he didn't want to be alone right now. He had no idea why, it was just a strong impulse that he couldn't ignore. He wondered whether he knew any of the shadows that were hovering above him. He hoped he did.

_"Shoulder's a mess. Get it irrigated and the dislocation stabilised as best you can. Leave the re-location to the surgeon - that's if he ever gets here."_

Sam wanted his brother to be here, to be one of the many faceless shadows that were racing around him. He could feel the urgency all around; it was thick and smothering.

_"We've got diminished breath sounds on the right and I hear fluid. He needs a chest tube STAT; we could be looking at a hemothorax here and I need a chest x-ray to confirm that and to check his rib alignments."_

He had a feeling that something important was happening, but he just had no clue what it was. And if he couldn't be in control here, he needed Dean to look out for him.

_"Severe bruising covering the lower back. Get me the ultrasound now; I need to check his kidneys. This could be the bleeder we've been looking for."_

It was an irrational feeling, his need for his big brother. Something he hoped he would have grown out of by now. As much he wanted to ignore it, something felt wrong and he needed his brother to be here with him.

_"He's hypotensive, heart rate is up to 120"_

Why isn't he here now? Dean should be here, would be if he could. But his brother had to be okay; he was made of tough stuff. Besides, Dean didn't know how to give up on anything.

_"Dammit, he's going into hypovolemic shock. Get another IV inserted; he's losing too much fluid. Where the hell is the surgeon? Page surgery again, I want that surgeon's ass in here now, no excuses."_

A feeling of tiredness washed over him without warning. It felt strange to feel anything, besides the numbing cold and sense of weightlessness. But he couldn't help but feel relieved to finally feel something that connected him to his body.

_"Definite bleeding around both kidneys. We could be looking at numerous contusions. I need that surgeon, and where the hell is everyone? Pull someone in from next door - I need an extra pair of hands in here now or we're going to lose him!"_

The more Sam fought to break through the fog, the more alone he felt. He'd never felt this isolated before. At least not when he was surrounded by so many hustling shadowed figures. The urge to feel a familiar presence was overwhelming.

_"He's in V-Fib."_

It was too hard. He was floating, thoughts tethered to his broken body by a single strand of frayed thread. And he didn't have the strength to hold on any more.

_"Push an amp of epi and get me the paddles. Charge. Clear!"_

The thread snapped. It was like being separated even further from the things you value the most: your body, your life force, your family. Then in one swift sweep it's all lost.

_"He's got a sinus rhythm."_

But then returned almost immediately and he wondered if it had ever happened. Time was something he couldn't fully grasp - not here anyway. The cold was creeping back, spreading quickly from the inside to the outside, with a twitch of his toes.

_"Page surgery and book an OR. I don't care about their lame excuses, he can't wait any longer, we're red-lining him up there."_

Quiet settled again, heavier than before. More demanding. A moment later it pulled him under completely, back into the silent black void. Where pain couldn't find him. But could Dean?

**XoXoX**

The feeling of pain was both oddly comforting and immensely uncomfortable. But Sam couldn't help but feel relieved at its presence because it provided an anchor to the real world.

He wanted to tell someone that he hurt because although he wasn't one for drawing unnecessary attention to himself, the pain was bad. Actually it was really bad. His shoulder, in particular, radiated with the sort of agony a trapped animal would chew off a limb to escape.

Voicing his misery was a no go. His throat was sore and painfully tender and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert. In an attempt to create some moisture, Sam ran his heavy tongue over his lips and winced in discomfort at it caught on a raised cut. He tasted the faint tang of iron and swallowed.

Great, now he felt nauseous on top of all the pain. He felt miserable. Totally helpless and he really needed someone to do something about the pain before he went insane or god forbid he lost consciousness again.

With great effort, he managed to heave open his eyes, only to realise a moment later that he could only see properly through his left eye. His right only let a small crack of light filter through.

It was really bright, too bright. Sam allowed both his eyelids to close and re-open again a second later, this time only half mast as he attempted to shy away from the blinding rays of daylight. Things were out of focus and very blurry as the room did a breaststroke across his line of vision. But as he scanned his surroundings things gradually began to clear.

He was in a room, a fairly big one, and it was white. He was alone, lying flat on his back and surrounded by wires and annoyingly noisy machines. But really it was the smell that gave it away. He was in a hospital.

Pushing the pain aside, Sam's mind buzzed, running on overdrive as he tried to recall his last memory, to make of sense of it all. Then it all came at once, everything, like pictures in a flipbook fluttering by faster and faster. His Dad's body on the ground, "time of death 10:41", arguing with Dean, clowns, vampires, Gordon, a punch in the face, angry words and being back at Bobby's. Then just as abruptly as it had started it stopped and there was nothing else. Nothing that could explain his current predicament or his exact location.

Careful to move nothing but his head, he could see an uncomfortable-looking chair to his right. Sam frowned deeply at its emptiness, feeling the pinch of stitches on various parts of his face. He knew his brother – Dean would be here if he could. Was - was Dean okay?

It was only then that he noticed the raised voices coming from behind the closed door and the fully blinded window. The words were faint but angry sounding, and he'd recognise the tone of one of the voices anywhere.

_"…because otherwise I'm gonna lose it and you don't need to hear the crap that's gonna get hurled!"_

Dean. That was Dean and Sam felt the relief run through his veins. His brother was here and although judging by his tone he was a little pissed off, it sounded like he was doing okay. Sam found himself relaxing slightly. Everything felt more manageable and fixable now that he knew his brother was here.

_"You shouldn't be here Dean, you need to be..."_

That voice took a while longer to identify. Mainly because it wasn't immediately recognisable. But when it did come to him, the presence of this person confused Sam. Nevertheless, the gruff timbre undeniably belonged to Bobby Singer, and Sam couldn't help but be drawn into eavesdropping in on their conversation. They were definitely arguing, and he noted with growing concern that both voices were getting steadily louder and considerably harsher in tone.

_"I don't give a rat's ass about where I need to be. In fact it's the last thing on my mind right now. If you don't get out of my way, I swear I'm gonna start throwing punches."_

_"Just sit down Dean, before you fall flat on your face."_

_"I'm fine, I just need to…"_

_"No, what you need to do is get your scrawny ass back to bed where it belongs before anyone notices you're gone, you damn idjit. You were told you couldn't be here until your test results came back and…" _

_"BOBBY!"_

Sam had heard enough; he didn't want this. He knew his brother. Knew that Dean was hurting in his grief and that he didn't mean it - the words or the actions. But would Bobby?

So no, Sam couldn't allow it to continue, and yes, he would stop it.

The how was more of a problem. He knew, just knew that this was really going to hurt. Worse than he already did, if that was possible. But he could to it, even though he felt more dead than alive right now. Dean was right; he was a stubborn and selfish bastard. He needed Bobby, needed to know someone was on their side, was there for them both if and when they needed it.

More importantly, he suspected that Dean needed Bobby too, maybe more than he did.

_"I can't let you do this, Dean, look at yourself. You…"_

_"MOVE!"_

The echoes of the voices pounded through the walls and Sam knew he had to make a move and now. As he attempted to use his arms as leverage to raise his exhausted body off the bed, he found that his right arm was tightly bandaged and secured over his chest. Even that didn't prevent it from screeching in pain as he jostled it accidentally. He rolled his body slightly over to the left and used his free arm and elbow to push himself up off the starch-stiff sheets.

Something thin and plastic tightened across his face as he raised himself up. It was then that he noticed the tingle and general unpleasantness of a nasal cannula. He reached up with a shaky left hand and tore it off his face, his eyes only now falling onto the vast amount of wires and leads that he was still attached to.

"…heard enough, Bobby!" Dean's voice thundered as the door to Sam's room was flung open and the limping, hospital-gowned form of Dean Winchester entered the room. He wore a distinctly stern and slightly shocked face and Sam didn't fail to notice that it seemed to turn a whiter shade of pale as they locked eyes. Sam's breath hitched in his throat as the pain caught up to him.

"Jesus, Sam! What the hell are you doing?" he heard his brother yell from across the room. Sam flinched, and felt himself fall back against the mattress, his heading hitting the pillow and his mind temporarily ceasing to function as he cried out in pain.

He must have lost a few moments because the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes and he could feel a hand on his chest pressing down lightly.

"Don't move. Just take it easy, okay?" Dean reassured him. Sam shifted his eyes to settle on his brother's face; he could see the concern that was plastered openly on his tight features. It was a rarity to catch Dean openly showing emotion, especially when it was so clear and wasn't masked over a second later.

"Dean?" he gasped breathlessly, letting the single word speak for itself. He knew that Dean would hear that it was crammed with worry and a thousand questions. It was only now that he could see the damage to Dean's face - his brother's pain becoming both emotional and physical in front of his own eyes.

"I'm fine, Sam. It looks worse than it is," Dean replied. Dean could always read him like a book and annoying as it was sometimes, it was a blessing in disguise at this very moment.

The problem was that the same was true of Sam, and Dean was lying his ass off right now.

Dean's face was littered with small cuts and bruises, and he had a thick bandage taped over the left side of his face near his ear. The dark smudges under his eyes told Sam of his lack of sleep and the exhaustion that was hounding his brother. But it was Dean's eyes that troubled him most, full of fear and unshed tears.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I've got you, I'm here." Dean spoke in a soft hushed tone that sounded so concerned that Sam wasn't sure whether he'd heard it correctly. Sam knew he had to be pretty messed up for Dean to act that way.

Something big had happened. It was written all over Dean's face and he could see the shift and change within his older brother as clear as daylight. Sam couldn't help but feel that somehow he had his big brother back. He could only hope that it would last, that Dean would finally open up to him about all the crap that they'd been dealt recently.

He couldn't take his eyes off Dean. Not when he heard his machines wail and a blinding hot pain erupted from his back, his vision winking out then back in. Nor did it shift when the room filled with people that all crowded around his bed shouting orders at each other. His eye contact didn't even falter when Dean's hand was removed from his chest, his bed was lowered and a stranger's face appeared in his line of vision, with lips speaking unheard words.

No, it would take a lot more than that for Sam to pry away his eyes from Dean - the brother he'd missed. He could only guess that it was some sort of medication that finally did it. He felt a rush of heat sprint up his arm and then the link to his brother was severed.

TBC

**A/N - **So what did you think? I really hope that you all enjoyed that! I'm going away for a few days so unfortunately there is going be a short wait for the next update. I know, I know, I'm so sorry! I'm hoping I'll get chapter 10 to you in a week from today but it could be a bit longer. Rest assured, I'll do everything within my power to post it as soon as I can. Take care, Madebyme.x


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer **- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- You guys are the best! I can't believe that I'm still getting alerts and favourites and I'd like to say hello and thank you to all of you new readers who have just found this fic. Also, I'd like to say a huge thank you to those of you who review, it's really helpful to know what elements of the story are working for you and I hope I can keep you all entertained. A quick shout out to Casammy, my anonymous reviewer, thank you for your kind review and it was lovely to hear from you again.

To my beta **Harrigan**, who has sorted out a lot of inconsistencies and punctuation errors in this chapter - thank you so very much for your time and help. I'm here to learn and your advice has been worth it's wait in gold and I'm tremendously grateful! I have tinkered a little, so any mistakes are mine.

**A/N**- Firstly, I apologise profusely for the delay in posting, not only was I away for a few days, but then the site suffered 'technical glitches' and this is the first chance I've had since Saturday to log-on and post! Please excuse any medical errors, I did my research and this is as accurate as I can make it, but I'm no where near an expert. As this is Dean's chapter, there's some naughty language but not a great deal of grossness. It's been a while since the last update so I'll give you a quick reminder of where I left you all, I hope you all enjoy!

Previously in Bridging Distances…

He couldn't take his eyes off Dean. Not when he heard his machines wail and a blinding hot pain erupted from his back, his vision winking out then back in. Nor did it shift when the room filled with people that all crowded around his bed shouting orders at each other. His eye contact didn't even falter when Dean's hand was removed from his chest, his bed was lowered and a stranger's face appeared in his line of vision, with lips speaking unheard words.

No, it would take a lot more than that for Sam to pry away his eyes from Dean - the brother he'd missed. He could only guess that it was some sort of medication that finally did it. He felt a rush of heat sprint up his arm and then the link to his brother was severed.

**Bridging Distances**

**Chapter Ten**

Dean was royally pissed off.

All he wanted to do was to get out of this god forsaken hospital gown and into his own clothes, so that he could get back to Sam. If he hadn't pushed Sam away and listened to what his brother was trying to say all those days ago, then none of this would have happened. It was his fault. And that's what pissed him off.

With a flinch he yanked out the IV line and attempted to push his feelings aside, barely acknowledging that this lifelong habit was becoming more difficult. Grimacing, he wiggled himself into his bloodstained jeans. Dean then pushed himself forward, slipping his weary body off the bed, this time remembering not to put any weight on his injured left leg - he'd never make that mistake twice.

He wasn't stupid; he knew he wasn't exactly a poster boy of health right now. But he didn't have the time or the patience to be sick. Besides, there was no way he could just lie here, not after he had seen the look in his brother's eyes that would forever be tattooed onto his brain.

"Christ, Dean! You got a death wish or something?" Bobby's voice boomed from over Dean's shoulder. Damn, he must be sick; he hadn't even heard the door open.

"Not listening, Bobby, so don't waste your breath," Dean retorted, struggling awkwardly to pull on a black t-shirt, and muffling a pain-filled grunt. He then hobbled unsteadily over to his boots.

"It's a stupid idea, Dean, what the hell's the matter with you?"

Dean kept his mouth closed. Having successfully wrestled on his boots he limped back over to the bed and retrieved his leather jacket while trying to ignore the fire that was being shot out of Bobby's eyes. He noticed sadly that his jacket had seen better days. There were bloodstains, his own and Sam's, marring the leather. It stank of smoke and was torn in some places and singed in others. It broke his heart.

"This isn't a game, Dean. You don't play around with your health. You need to be fit and healthy. Not half-dead and sweating buckets." It was speeches like that one that really pushed Dean's buttons because Bobby was damn good at them, and he knew it too.

"I'm fine, okay. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Until I believe you, Dean. Until the doctors agree with you," Bobby urged. "Don't do this. You know Sam wouldn't want you to." That was low, using the Sam card. Dean spun around to face Bobby, the world around him wavering. With straining muscles, he grabbed hold of the bed frame, narrowly escaping what would have been a spectacular nosedive.

"Don't. Just…don't," Dean stammered as he saw Bobby quickly cross the room to help him. "I'm fine."

"Course you are," Bobby huffed and Dean could visibly see the man piece together his next argument. "Christ, Dean, you only woke up properly yesterday afternoon. You were unconscious for nearly two days, and what with the blood loss and smoke inhalation, you shouldn't be on your feet. You can barely stand up straight with that back of yours. You need to give yourself some time to heal,you damn idjit."

"No. What I need is to be with my brother and not just for five minute visits. And since he's in the ICU, not here, I'm going to him." Why the hell Bobby couldn't understand that was beyond him.

"C'mon Dean, you..."

"It's a done deal. I've signed the AMA papers, heard the countless lectures and now I'm going. There isn't a damn thing you can do about it so get the hell out of my way," Dean shouted, far louder then he had originally intended, glaring angrily at the crutches he had every intention of ignoring.

He could barely hide his awkward shuffle out of the room and down the corridor. Especially when the knife-hot pain began to stab his left leg and the broken ribs across his back started to pound like a bass drum. Steeling himself against the light-headed feeling that blanketed his senses, Dean stumbled his way toward the elevator.

He really hoped Bobby wasn't right.

**XoXoX**

Being with Sam was supposed to make him feel better. It didn't.

Sam looked worse. He was still too pale and colourless, too bruised and cut up, still dwarfed by far too many machines and wires. Worst of all, Sam was unconscious.

Somehow during the last couple of hours, Sam had gone from being stable and on the road to recovery back to being unstable and critical. Definitely a Sasquatch-sized step back in the wrong direction.

Dean didn't know what was making him feel sicker; the chest tube and the gross-looking fluid that it was draining, the sight of the blood-tinged bandages covering Sam's immobilised shoulder, or the fact that he knew Sam was still bleeding internally.

What really bothered him the most was that Sam looked - well nothing like Sam. There was no broody bitch face, no disgusted eye roll, no witty geek boy comeback. He'd expected the injuries, had known all about them from the detailed accounts that he had managed to squeeze out of Bobby. But the reality of what was in front of him now was a helluva lot worse than he could ever have imagined. It was scaring him, seeing Sam like this, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it, that it was completely out of his control.

"You'll be fine, Sam. We both will."

It was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever said. It held no real meaning, probably because it was more of a lie than the truth. He didn't believe it, not really. Not after his Dad's final whispered words. But it was all that he had, for now at least.

There was so much that needed to be said. So much for him to make up for. Secrets that needed to be told. But it was all too much and that was the crux of the whole problem. Too much had happened and Dean had just let it all slide past him. Now he feared that it was too late.

_It's too little, too late._

And wasn't that a kick in the jewels. His own angry words coming back to mock him, because it was true. He had done nothing and now it was too late. He didn't even know where to start to make things better; maybe he couldn't. But he wouldn't give up, not on Sam, not ever.

But things would have to change. Neither of them could go on like this, keep pretending that everything was fine and not talking about the things that really mattered. They wouldn't survive it much longer.

Shifting his position on the standard hospital chair, trying desperately to ease the pain that erupted across his back, Dean sucked a mouth full of air through clenched teeth. Damn, he wished he'd bothered to pick up the prescriptions his doc had written out.

"Truce?" he heard Bobby grunt, as a Styrofoam cup of what smelled suspiciously like coffee floated in front of his face.

"Is it poisoned or something?" Dean asked, taking the cup. "Because that would be no more than I deserve right now," he added sheepishly, wondering how the hell Bobby had gotten the drop on him for the second time today. Either Dean was losing his edge or Bobby was a lot more stealthy than he gave him credit for.

"Not this time it ain't. But pull another stunt like that and it just might be," Bobby retorted as he walked to the far corner of Sam's room and dragged a chair back with him. He sank heavily into the chair, glancing a knowing look over at Dean.

"I know I've been a pain in the ass, Bobby, it's just…"

"I know, son. I know," Bobby interrupted in a hushed tone.

As Dean locked eyes with Bobby, he realised that he'd never seen the man look so tired, worn out, and well, a lot older than his years. He was almost surprised that his recent behaviour hadn't driven the old man into an early grave.

"They've finally got that fire under control," Bobby told him. "The only problem being that it's burnt its way through over 75 percent of the entire forest. It's damn lucky you boys got out when you did."

"Yeah, it is, thanks to you. You know if you hadn't have answered that call, traced and reported it, Sam and I would be overly crispy by now."

"Call me Superman," Bobby joked, his smile slipping when he added, "But you know all you have to do is call, right? Whenever, for whatever reason."

"Yeah, Bobby, I know. We both do. Thanks. I, er, well we both appreciate it and thank you, for…you know, everything," Dean stuttered, a faint cloud of pink colouring his cheeks as he dipped his head to take a sip of his coffee.

"You're welcome, Dean, anytime, and I mean that." Bobby spoke slowly and precisely, clearly making sure that his words were understood.

He waited until Dean nodded before continuing. "I spoke with Sam's doctor earlier. He said that there's no sign yet that the bleeding is getting any worse. They think it's clotting itself up with the help of all the crap that they're pumping into him. He's hopeful that Sam won't have to go back into surgery."

"Hopeful?" Dean spluttered in disbelief. "Surely they can do better than that."

"They can't be sure, Dean, it's still too early. Sam just needs more time, that's all."

"More time! It's going on four days now. God, he's such a stubborn bastard when he wants to be." Dean's voice crept louder as he lost his composure.

"Sam'll be okay, Dean, he will," Bobby tried to reassure him but Dean wasn't sure how confident he sounded.

"Yeah, well he'd better be." Because there was no way in hell he'd make it if his brother didn't survive.

**XoXoX**

Dean had no idea how long he'd been staring at his brother, but it was long enough for his coffee to acquire the temperature – and taste – of lukewarm pond scum. Without thought, he leaned forward to set the useless cup on the floor and his ribcage reminded him, violently, why that was a bad move. Before he was finished cursing, he found a white paper bag shoved into his hands.

"You'll be needing those," Bobby all but ordered, "and I don't want to hear any of that 'I'm fine' bull. Just take the damn pain pills and the antibiotics or I'll be forced to tan your hide. Deal?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied almost instinctively. It shocked him how much Bobby reminded him of Dad sometimes, and how easily he fell back into the old routine of following his Dad's command.

"Don't 'sir' me, Dean, just promise me you'll take them." Bobby's face softened.

"I promise. Is that all? Or do you want to check that I washed behind my ears?" Dean teased as he lifted his eyebrows and let the smile curl the corners of his lips.

Bobby leaned back, hooking a foot on the metal base of Sam's bed. "So, a Vedi Demon huh? You boys sure are cursed. They're bad-assed and rare as hell. I've never seen one before, not sure many hunters have."

"And hopefully no one will ever again." Dean reached a hand toward Sam, wanting his geek of a brother to wake up, to be a vital part of any discussion on mythical creatures that turned out not to be so mythical. His hand hovered over Sam's arm, all tape and tubes and singed hair and reddened flesh, and finally settled on Sam's long fingers lying on the white blanket, lax and cool.

"I'm off to the forest now, want to double check that everything's clear and that that damn demon really is toast." Bobby stood, knees creaking, as his glance swung from the clock to Sam to Dean.

"I'd appreciate that, Bobby, thanks." Dean wasn't sure if he could ever go back to that damn forest again. He suspected that Bobby was well aware of that fact.

"I'll see you in a few. Make sure to take those pills and get some rest. Maybe eat something too while you're at it." Dean rolled his eyes, Bobby really was the ultimate mother hen from hell.

**XoXoX**

Dean dreamt of fire, boxing him in at all sides. He could feel the heat as it licked his sensitive skin, watched helplessly as the blaze jumped from tree to tree, separating him even further from Sam. A spilt second later and all he could see was fire as it consumed everything.

Sam was gone.

There was pressure on his shoulder, a petite hand that squeezed lightly. His eyes shot open and all he could see was a concerned feminine face of a nurse he vaguely recognised.

"Are you okay? You were dreaming," she asked, taking a step back, frowning a little at what she saw. But he didn't reply; he couldn't. He was still half-trapped in the fire and could barely respond with a nod.

"He woke up briefly," she said, tilting her head toward Sam. "He seemed to be searching for something, and as soon as he saw you he settled again."

"He okay?" Dean murmured, shifting his gaze over to Sam, who still looked like hell to him.

"There's been no additional bleeding. He has a slight fever, but that's to be expected with what his body has been through. We're monitoring him closely for any signs of infection. But other than that, it's looking good; his vitals are on the rise."

"He's going to be okay, though, right?" Dean asked, desperate for a solid answer.

"Doctor Harper will be doing his rounds shortly. I'm sure he'll be happy to answer any questions you have about your brother's condition," she replied, smiling reassuringly as she returned to jotting down readings from one of Sam's machines.

Dean rubbed the heel of his hand at his sleep-encrusted eyes. He watched as the nurse continued to fuss over Sam, straightening blankets and checking the many wires and tubes that he was attached to.

"I brought that for you," she said as she looked up from over Sam's chart and nodded conspiratorially towards the tray of food on the bedside cabinet. "You need to eat; you don't look so good yourself."

"Thanks," Dean mumbled, stomach growling as he reached out and snatched the sandwich, unwrapping it hastily.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," she continued, eying him critically. "You won't do your brother much good if you end up back here as a patient again."

"Yeah, so I've heard," Dean replied, maybe a little too harshly. "Look I appreciate your concern and all, but you don't need to worry about me, I'm fine. Really."

She nodded and hung Sam's chart on the foot of his bed before crossing the room and stopping at the door. "Don't forget to take your meds," she added, smiling lightly before opening the door and closing it quietly behind her.

Dean huffed briefly. Sam was the patient here, not him.

The sandwich was the best thing he'd ever tasted and it didn't take long before he'd polished it off, along with the apple that was also on the tray. He grabbed the water bottle and chugged half of it before he remembered about his meds. Sighing loudly, he tore open the white paper bag and rummaged through it, taking out two small brown-coloured bottles. Reading the dosage, Dean poured the pills from both bottles out onto his open palm, glaring at them in disgust before placing them on his tongue and chasing them down with a mouth full of water.

"You okay, Dean?" he heard someone whisper.

Lowering his head, Dean couldn't help the huge Cheshire cat smile that spread across his whole face. Sam's face was turned slightly towards him, eyes open and everything!

"Who, me? I'm always okay. The question is how are you?" Dean asked, pulling his chair even closer to Sam's bed, and doing his best to hide the lightning pain that struck his thigh and bounced up his back, electrifying his bruised and broken ribs.

Dean watched as Sam blinked lethargically, frowning in deep concentration as he tried to come up with an answer.

"Don't hurt yourself on my account," Dean teased, trying to hide his own concern at Sam's obvious confusion.

Sam just stared at him with a completely blank expression.

"I don't…"

"Doesn't matter. Do you need anything? Are you in pain?" Dean interrupted, reminding himself that just because Sam was awake, that didn't mean that he was cured. He'd nearly died, had surgery, and was still on god knows how many medications. So of course it was to be expected that Sam would be a little out of it.

Normally, it would be fuel to a teasing marathon. But right now, Dean didn't find it all that funny.

"No, I'm good…I think," Sam replied quietly, with too much effort.

"You should get some rest, Sam. You look like crap," Dean teased, trying desperately to weasel out a typical Sam response, a witty back chat comment or even a jerk. Anything to give him a sign that Sam would be okay.

But all he got was Sam's eyes slipping closed.

**XoXoX**

Dean wasn't good at being alone.

At first he'd fidgeted. Shifted around in his chair, fiddled with the empty water bottle label and had even counted his remaining meds. But when he couldn't concentrate on the TV, that's when the worrying kicked up a notch. Sam's doc had been and gone, along with countless faceless nurses who had all said that Sam was doing well, yes his confusion was normal, and no, he didn't need to worry about it. But his concern still peaked each time Sam flinched or woke up to a world that clearly made no sense at all to him.

He had to constantly remind himself that Winchesters were nothing if not resilient. So Sam would be fine. It was just a matter of time. If Dean wasn't so impatient, it wouldn't even be a problem.

Most of the time he felt like he was sitting next to a stranger.

He had needed so badly to get close to Sam and yet now that he was he'd never felt so separated from his brother. Not even when Sam was at Stanford, that was just miles. This was entirely different.

He needed Sam back and soon. When he did, he promised himself that he'd fix everything that was broken, everything that he'd disregarded or swept aside.

_I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know._

"Dean?" a weak voice mumbled from Sam's bed.

"Yeah. You with me this time?" Dean asked as he studied his brother's face. Sam's eyes looked clearer, definitely a vast improvement on their previous haziness. He seemed… well, a little more like the brother he remembered.

"I, er…what happened?"

Dean could visibly see the cogs turn in his brother's head as he tried to piece together his most recent memories. "A lot, Sam. A lot has happened." Dean wasn't sure if he could do this now. Talk about it all. But something had to change.

"I remember a forest," Sam said, pushing for a more detailed answer. It was the first time Dean had seen and heard a glimmer of the real Sam in far too long and it felt really good. "I was alone, I think. A hunt?"

"Yeah, we were on a hunt. It went south pretty quickly and we got separated," Dean said, testing the water. He didn't need to bombard Sam with too much right now. They had plenty of time and he intended to take full advantage of that.

"I was hurt, right?" Sam frowned, digging for a memory that seemed stubbornly elusive.

"Yeah. The Vedi demon did a real number on you, but you still managed to waste it before I found you. The forest was on fire at that point but Bobby managed to get us some help. I guess we owe him some flowers or something," Dean grinned.

"Yeah, I remember now." Sam sounded so lost, like he had been going it alone for far too long. It hit Dean then that he had. They both had.

"But you're okay, right?" Sam's face paled even more as he struggled to sit up and get a better look at his brother.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm okay." Dean jumped up, put his hand on his brother's uninjured shoulder and gently eased him back against the pillow. Despite Sam's wince, he knew Sam had noticed how stiffly Dean moved. He could play it down, but he couldn't outright lie. Besides, the time for lying was over. "Busted ribs, messed up my leg, few burns and bruises. Nothing I can't handle."

Sam seemed satisfied with that answer. Dean watched his brother pull his tired eyes away from their mutual hold, brow deeply furrowed.

It was obvious to Dean then that Sam did remember everything.

"You found me?" Sam said finally, his eyes back on Dean. It felt to Dean like he was under a spot light and he knew, just knew that that question meant so much more that it appeared to.

"Yeah, Sam, I found you," and suddenly things didn't seem so bad anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer **- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripkeand Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back when I'm finished but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Thank You **- I can't thank you all enough for reading, reviewing, altering and marking this fic as a favourite. When I finally managed to pluck up the courage to post this story, all those weeks ago (thanks to some gentle encouragement from **blue peanut m and m**) I never imagined that it would be so well received. Your support and kind words have played a vital part in my writing process, helping me in so many ways and for that I'm tremendously grateful.

To **Harrigan **who I consider to be the best beta to have graced this fandom, thank you so very much. Not only have you sacrificed many hours of your time to offer me advice and support but you have also shared your editing wisdom, while never once complaining when I worked you hard - which I did, quite often actually! You've taught me a great deal about my writing over the last few months and I really can't express how grateful I am. You really are a star and this fic truly wouldn't be what it is without your greatly valued input, so for that, and everything else, I thank you dearly. Go team, Waffle, go!

**A/N** - So this is it, the final chapter. I feel incredibly emotional and quite tearful that I've reached the end of this amazing journey. But I've had such fun writing and sharing it with you all and I hope that I can keep you entertained until the very last word. There's a little language warning here but that's about it. Here we go, I sincerely hope you all enjoy.

**Bridging Distances**

**Epilogue**

It was like hell on earth - an endless charcoal black expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. Smoke still hung in heavy clouds over the horizon, clogging the air as the atmosphere struggled to swallow it down. But it was the utter silence that created the eerie ambience that surrounded the entire area.

There were no signs of life. No flora or fauna; it was a barren environment now. All that remained of a once flourishing forest was a handful of sporadically scattered tree carcasses that peppered the blackened soil with death.

Two crestfallen figures stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in a hauntingly hollow silence.

It was hard to bear, seeing the disaster of what remained of the forest. In silent ruins. Not unlike their partnership lately, Sam thought.

But they had needed some closure. From all that happened, all they had suffered. So neither one complained how long it had taken to get here or how physically painful the car journey had been to their still recovering bodies.

So, here they were, together. And that was what really mattered because something good had to come out of all this, it just had to.

They continued their joint trance**-**like state, staring in bewilderment and disbelief at the scene in front of them. It would seem that it was always fire, a flaming murderous force that had stalked their family for over two decades.

"I think I remember most of it now," Sam said, tentatively breaking the silence.

"You do?"

"It was so hard, Dean. I didn't even know if you were alive. The thought of losing you, too, so soon after Dad. I - " Sam's voice broke.

Dean shifted his weight, a flicker of dormant compassion propelling him to take a step closer to his brother. But his bad leg caught on an exposed root and the flare of pain made him stop dead in his tracks. And then the moment was gone. Sam had control of his emotions again, was critically analysing the events. His time-honoured method of coping. While Dean's, of late, was silence and withdrawal.

"I think the creature - the Vedi - it affected my ability to think clearly," Sam continued. "To remember. I don't know how. But now I understand why those survivors we interviewed were so confused. I think it caused that." He hugged his sling to his chest as he shivered at the memory. "Maybe it was some kind of psychic vampire – feeding off the anxiety of its prey."

"Yeah. Sounds familiar." Dean admitted, "I felt…" what? Out of his mind with worry? And guilt? Dean Winchester didn't confess to emotions like those and his voice trailed off into silence.

And so here they were, back to the all too familiar territory of not talking. Sure, they'd had conversations in the hospital while they each recovered. They talked about the details of what went down while they were separated, how Dean had tracked Sam and come across the Vedi, how Sam had woken up alone in the clearing, confused and disorientated. But together they had managed to piece it all together, and had discovered that even though they had been separated, were miles apart, they had somehow also managed to work and hunt together.

But no mention had been made of the rest of it, the emotional turmoil part. The crippling side of the hunt which had brought to light the state of their broken relationship as brothers. They had been physically separated for nearly two days, and yet emotionally they had been apart for far longer. Both of them knew it and both were too afraid to voice it. Too afraid it was something that couldn't be fixed.

Sam took a couple of steps back and rested his weary body against the hood of the car, feeling a sudden sweep of exhaustion flow through his body. He wasn't quite healed yet, still had a lot of bruises and healing internal organs. His right shoulder was secured tightly by a brace and it might never be the same. Apparently he had weeks of physiotherapy to look forward to. It would be prone to dislocate again, if he continued hunting. And he didn't really have a choice about that, not with his crippling visions, and the Yellow-Eyed Demon still out there…

Sam watched from over his shoulder as Dean copied his action**, **sagging heavily against the hood and wincing slightly as he rubbed his injured thigh.

"You saw the Vedi as a Wendigo, right?" Sam asked softly, looking for some sort of approval to continue.

"Yeah. Still not sure why though." Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the sudden knot of tension.

"I think it could control what we saw – like a hallucination. It was playing with you. Distracting you, keeping you busy until it could feed," Sam rattled out, as he studied his hands nervously.

That was his tell, well one of them anyway. Dean knew there was more, something else that his brother needed to voice. "Why wait though? We were both in the forest," Dean asked, knowing that Sam needed to know the whys and hows. Dean had to admit that for probably the first time ever, he could appreciate why Sam felt that way. It wasn't all about curiosity and knowledge, it was also about security and protection.

"I think it could only feed off one victim at a time. The pit of blood allowed it to disorientate its victims as well as allowing it to fully absorb the energy it was feeding off." Sam paused before tentatively beginning again, "Dean, I er…when I saw the demon, it looked like you."

"It did?" Dean asked. Things began to click into place. "Guess that would explain why you seemed so confused when I found you."

"It said you were dead, Dean." Sam's voice hitched, his head lowered. "I thought you were dead."

That was new information to Dean. He knew all about that feeling, the fear and the dread. He'd thought he'd lost his brother, too.

"I've been thinking," Sam continued, "about the Vedi and everything else. The demon knew all about us, Dean, and it used that information to its advantage," Sam spluttered as he studied his hands. This growing rift had been pushing them further apart and even the Vedi had noticed and had used it against them.

"Yeah, I guess…" Dean shrugged, staring at his boots and not meeting his brother's eyes.

"And that doesn't worry you?" Sam asked, his frown tugging at his stitches. "It knew that wearing your face would bother me; it fed quicker because of that. I mean it would have killed us, both of us and all we did was make it easier!"

"Of course it bothers me. You nearly died and I…" Dean stumbled, all but shouting now as his temper flared fiercely. "What do you want me to do, Sam? Rewind time and change the past? Because I would if I could."

And that shook Sam. Hit hard. Dean had always shouldered the responsibly and blame for anything that ever went wrong and Sam should have been prepared for it, but he wasn't. Ever since their Dad's death it felt to Sam like Dean had a death wish, like he was intentionally putting himself in harm's way, all to prove a point. The point being that he wasn't worth the sacrifice, like somehow their Dad was worth more to the world than he was.

They sat there, lost in painful thoughts and recriminations. The silence was awkward and it hung heavily in the air and it was Sam who eventually waded himself through it, breaking free at the other side.

"I guess it really was lucky that we made it out of here, huh?" Sam asked, while taking another dumbstruck look at the burnt cinders of a once blooming forest.

"Yeah, we owe Bobby big time for that and for smoothing things over with the authorities. I have no idea what he said but that man is a master at spinning lies and tall tales. I know our rap sheet is pretty long and all, but a total forest wipe-out really ain't my thing." Dean quipped, his cocky smile faded as he caught a glimpse of the dark bruises around Sam's right eye and the tight lines of pain around the set of his mouth. Sam still couldn't even stand up straight, he was all hunched over like an old man. But it was the stiff way he held himself and the gasps of pain - despite the vast array of medications he was taking - that reminded Dean all too clearly, that this had been a close call. Too close.

Maybe they'd left the hospital too early - the kid did still looked like road kill. But Sam had been adamant about his desire to leave and Dean didn't have the heart, or the will, to say no. He knew Sam wanted out as much as he did and he could only guess it was due to the same reason. He hadn't forgotten who had found his Dad lying on the hospital floor. So yeah, maybe they'd left a little prematurely but it was for a good reason.

"But murder is your thing?" Sam retorted, dimples showing. He adjusted his position on the hood with a wince, which Dean caught out of the corner of his eye. Every time he saw his brother do that, he was back sitting by Sam's hospital bed. With nothing to do but wonder if his brother was going to be okay, or if this was goodbye.

"Hell yeah! You gotta aim high Sam, or what's the point. After St. Louis and that damn shifter, I have a reputation to uphold!" Dean added sarcastically and it was worth it too when Sam scoffed and he saw his brother's eyes roll in response. It really had been a long time since he'd seen Sam do that.

"So, the Vedi Demon's gone? I mean, Bobby checked, right?" Sam couldn't hide the slight quiver in his voice.

"It's gone, Sam. I think Bobby probably triple-checked, just to be on the safe side." Dean caught a spark of worry flash across the paling purple bruises on Sam's face and maybe something else which he couldn't quite identify. "Why? Is there something I should know? You going Haley Joel on me or something?"

"Hell no…I mean, I don't know. I just…I guess I really hate it here." Sam stumbled, and that was the truth. This place just brought back far too many bad memories because things weren't what they once were with Dean. They were just starting to get back what they had lost; to being brothers again and being here was just a big fat reminder of how screwed up they'd both let things get.

"You and me both," Dean agreed. Because if he never came back here again, it would still be too soon.

Sam shuffled uncomfortably on the hood, muffling a groan as he tried to ease the pressure in his lower back and then swung his gaze over to his brother. "Thanks, Dean."

The words rang with heartfelt emotion, and Dean whipped his head around to face his brother, brow creased in confusion. "For what, Sam?" Dean asked in disbelief, "I mean I screwed up here. If I had just listened to you then none of…"

"For finding me, Dean. For not giving up on me. For saving my life," Sam spoke softly, eyes wet, hair blowing gently in the wind. "For everything."

"You pretty much saved yourself, Sam. You ganked that bastard, not me." Dean felt an ache somewhere near his heart. He had nearly been responsible for the death of two members of his family, and Sam was thanking him?

"We talked about this, man, this wasn't all your fault. We both screwed this up, both of us. And we're both responsible." Sam sighed heavily as he continued, "We're a team, Dean. Sometimes you forget that."

"Yeah well, it won't happen again." Dean muttered, tone bordering on a reckless promise while he lowered his head and toed a few pebbles and stones on the gravelled road side. His head was spinning. If he didn't say what was on his mind right now, than he never would and he had promised himself, had silently promised Sam back in the hospital that he would.

And back to silence, Sam noticed dishearteningly. It's what they were used to now; a few honest and meaningful words would be spoken, a confession of sorts and then one of them would cave and change the subject. It was usually Dean, with some sort of smart aleck remark or sometimes a crude comment. Sam couldn't help but prepare himself for one right now, all the signs were there.

"Sam…" and that wasn't what Sam was expecting; it was so pained and he stared at his brother. Dean's head was raised but only just, like he was battling with its weight. Sam knew the look, even through the bruises and healing stitches, Dean had something to say and it must be important because he was clearly struggling with it.

"You were right…back at Bobby's…" and then Dean's face broke. Sam could see it all, the grief, the guilt, the pain, everything. It looked so out of place that Sam's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed a huge lump, "I'm not dealing with Dad's death…not at all."

And that was it. But it was all Sam needed, all that he had been longing to hear. And yet the reality of the words were hard to hear. He had no answer, no words of comfort. But they were side by side, together and Sam hoped that that was good enough. He knew there was more, there always was with Dean. But it was something, a step in the right direction and that's all that really mattered to Sam. To know that his brother trusted him to share it, no matter how small a part.

They sat there, on the shiny reflective surface of the Impala's hood, completely surrounded by the devastation and ruins of a hunt gone so wrong. And yet somehow, both of them felt like this was the beginning of mending was what broken, of bridging distances that had become insurmountable. Maybe, just maybe one day things would be okay.

**XoXoX**

It was a miracle. A fluke really. The very same downward wind that had helped to spread the raging fire had saved it, had pulled it upwind and tossed it away from the heat of the flames.

Somehow it had survived when the forest hadn't.

It lay there by the side of the road, flipped over in the wind as a black car zoomed by, blowing the dust and soot away and revealing the bloody fingerprints and smudges of dirt that covered it. The ink from the scratchy harried writing had bled into the printed typed letters. One edge of the page was frayed, like it had torn hastily out of a book.

But no one knew it was here, that it had survived and had been spared a fiery death. It had been forgotten, but maybe not for long.

The ritual the paper carried hadn't been finished. The cleansing spell on the back of the page hadn't been seen or spoken, hadn't been put into practice.

Therefore the forest was now a death beacon, reaching out to all the dark entities in the world that would listen, attracting evil like a moth to a flame. The forest was now wide open to anything and everything, a deep scar pulling the supernatural to it and it wouldn't be long before something answered the call and found itself a new home.

**The End**

**A/N - **Thank you so very much for sticking with me and my very first fic. I truly hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it, it really has been a great pleasure! Your reviews and comments have kept me smiling throughout and for that I'm truly grateful. Take care everybody and thank you so much for welcoming me so warmly. Madebyme.x


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